


Lantern's Lure

by jasminetea



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Banter, Courting Rituals, Dream Sex, Dreamsharing, F/M, Fictober, Id Fic, Mating Bond, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Porn With Plot, Romance, Sex Magic, Trope Subversion/Inversion, background Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant, dating losers, fictober18, incubus!Damian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 04:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 68,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasminetea/pseuds/jasminetea
Summary: Joan's life is familiar and well-worn: working for the Association, tending to her Wards, protecting her baby brother, and lunch dates with Sam.That all changes when the incubus begins visiting her dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At last, I enter my wheelhouse of outlandish AUs for Joan/Damien! *cracks knuckles* I wrote this for [Fictober](https://barbex.tumblr.com/post/178393189908/a-list-of-prompts-for-october-write-something) (back in 2018!), and this fic is now complete at ~70k. 
> 
> I started this fic to <strike>procrastinate my kinky Joan/Damien fic</strike> see if I could write something like SekiharaTae’s [The Summoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/124507/chapters/175762), [Ravyn](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/75251/Ravyn)'s work, [cupcakemolotov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcakemolotov/pseuds/Cupcakemolotov)’s work, and Wishfulthinking’s [Vampire Seduction](https://www.literotica.com/s/vampire-seduction-ch-01), with their dreamy sizzling UST. The world-building is influenced by forthright's Amaranthine Saga and to a lesser extent Nalini Singh's Psy-Changeling series.
> 
> I will be making minor edits to the version I originally posted on [Tumblr](https://sweetlyenchains.tumblr.com/tagged/fictober18) and posting them here, hopefully twice a week. Chapter lengths will vary. While I will not be making major revisions to this fic, I am open to concrit, so I know what to watch for the next time I write something of this length.
> 
> Lastly, this is the longest fandom thing I've ever written, and it's been such a journey. <3 Many thanks to Regan for cheerleading this project over the past year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan is pestered by an incubus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Fictober18](http://barbex.tumblr.com/post/178393189908/a-list-of-prompts-for-october-write-something)'s Prompt 1, “Can you feel this?”

Lips brush against the top of her spine.

“Hello sweetheart, I’ve been up waiting for you.”

He gives her a small lick and blows against the wetness, his hands sliding across her bare hips.

“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account,” she replies.

Another of these damn dreams with that damn voice.

She takes in her surroundings, the room coming into view. Wood floors, warm beneath her feet, walls painted red. An ebony nightstand with a lamp burning bright, it’s shadows longer than they should’ve been against the wall. A ridiculously large bed made up with a crimson satin comforter and mountains of white pillows, probably silk.

She’s surprised he hasn’t strewn rose petals leading up to the monstrosity. Thank God for small mercies.

Alas, her underwear choice is not a mercy. Black, lacy, translucent enough to see how she grooms herself.

He slips his finger beneath the waistband, snaps it. “You don’t like it?”

“I would enjoy picking my own clothing.” At least she’s wearing a tank. She seems to be gaining some control of the dream. Reviewing her notes from lucid dreaming seems to have been good for something. Before it, she’d been in teddies with underwire that bit into her.

She turns to face him, but as always, his face is obscured. She can only hope hers is too, but that might be hoping for too much. He’s shirtless, wearing leather pants of all things this time that _lace up_ not zip. Christ, couldn’t she have wound up with someone who was practical?

“Babe, you’re practical enough for the both of us,” he laughs, his fingers tightening against her flesh and pulling her against him. Letting her feel how hard he was already.

The other infuriating thing about the dreams: he always knew what she wanted and used it against her. He’d been single-minded in his desire to “slide into your hot cunt, get you to scream my name as you gush all over my cock.” And the horrible thing was the insufferable dick was _good_ at what he did. He knew just what she liked.

He licks up her neck as his hands slide down her ass. “I’ll be the best kind of bad boy,” he murmurs against her lips. “All you have to do is say yes.”

He seemed to be bound by some set of rules. He always asked her this question and only touched her over her clothes. But even that’s been dangerous. She thinks about how last night, how thoroughly he’d eaten her out _over_ her panties_._ Just like tonight, it’d been a lacy thong, and he’d licked her to orgasm – he knew just when to use his teeth, and the press of his tongue near her entrance had left her wanting more.

He pushes closer to her, and she steps back, suddenly finding her thighs bumping against the mattress. Damn dream logic. She leans back as his chest pushes into hers.

Nestling his face between her breasts, he takes a deep breathe.

“I want what’s here, but since you won’t even keep that near the front of your mind, I’ll settle for this instead.”

He takes her nipple into his mouth, and sucks slowly, gently. She groans, and fists one hand in the comforter (just as soft as it looked) and the other in his hair, pulling him down harder. But he goes even slower, circling her areola, before licking, not sucking her nipple.

“Damn you,” she hisses, “_M__ore_.”

She can feel him smile, and he releases her with a pop. “Did you know, those panties are crotchless?”

Her eyes widen. When did he work his hand between her thighs? His fingers press into her channel, and she’s so wet and the pressure is just right –

She sobs as she rocks her hips in time with his thrusts. She can feel her orgasm building, her breath starting to catch.

The fucker removes his mouth and his hand.

He places her hand over his heart. His skin is slick and hot to the touch.

“Why do you keep saying no? Can’t you feel this?” he growls.

And while his heart beats under her palm, matching the throbbing in her pussy, she can feel the pulse of her magic rising and reaching up for his.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan tries to stop the dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Prompt 8 “I know you do.”

Joan wakes with a start, her face damp and warm, and her panties a mess yet again. At this rate, she needs to do laundry more often, buy more underwear, or just start sleeping without them altogether. She’d opt for the latter, but doesn’t want to give her intruder the satisfaction.

Her room is still dark; it must be a couple of hours to sunrise still. She turns her bedside lamp on, the shock hard on her eyes, but she knows where the dream journal is. She’s kept it in the same place: closest to her.

Joan hasn’t kept a dream journal in years, not since her days at the Academy. Her dreams were of the usual nonsensical sort – snippets of her day, half-remembered faces, conversations, her brain doing what it needed to to clear it of detritus and help her thinking be sharp. So, when she finished her requisite lucid dreaming class, she’d stopped.

But three months ago, she’d begun having recurring dreams. And she was very certain it was due to outside interference. She most certainly did _not_ dream of assholes trying to seduce her, God-awful-near-bordello-decor, or wearing crotchless thongs around her home.

It’d started on a new moon, happened again on the full moon, and each new and full moon thereafter. It was strange, but she’d written it off as a mystery of lunar influence she’d look into when she wasn’t so busy researching methods to protect Mark.

She flips the journal the next blank page, heading it with the date, lunar phrase, and how many hours she slept. She details as much as she can remember.

The Moleskin is filling up rapidly. Three weeks ago, the dreams began happening more often. They were almost nightly now, and she doesn’t know why. What does he want, why her, why approach her through dreams, and why so set on having sex with her?

She remembers the end of the dream. Without the haze of the dream, she can recognize he was using his magic to call hers.

“_Can’t you feel it?” _

She sets her pen down, thanking her foresight in stocking her scotch far, far away from her bed. If the demon is interested in her magic, there’s something else going on.

If the demon is looking for a Lightkeeper, this was the most ridiculous round-about way of doing it. There were many reasons the supernatural community would seek out a Lightkeeper: to siphon off excess power, to replenish their magic if they’d spent too much of it too quickly, comfort, emotional safety, to keep their secrets. But regardless, there were easier ways to find a Lightkeeper. One need only go to the Lightkeeper Association and ask; they were bound to refuse no one.

And if he’s interested specifically in Joan (she shivers, pulling the blankets up her lap), he’d only have had to ask. Barring extenuating circumstances, she wouldn’t deny anyone either.

He let the faintest whiff of his power skip from his chest to her hand over it. The rush of her own magic slipping outside her tight grip, trickling up from her tailbone, and surging up her sternum, a rushing river of sparks and exhilaration.

A dangerous idea occurs to her, one that would explain both why he’d called out to her magic and why he hadn’t approached her through the Association.

He suspects she’s an unregistered Beacon. Which while wasn’t _true_, was close enough to have alarm burn the rest of sleep from her.

She needs information.

* * *

While the Association Library doesn’t open until 10am, she knows Sam will likely be awake and already there.

Joan waits beneath the granite entryway, two drinks in hand.

Sam opens the door, “I’m sorry, but we’re not open until – Oh! Lantern Bright, please come in.”

Joan enters, the magic of the building brushing against her skin, and hands Sam the chai tea without sugar.

“Scholar Sam,” she teases. “I’ve told you before, you can call me Joan.”

They bypass the main library, brightly lit even at this hour, for the long corridor leading to the research and repair area. There was something wonderful about being in a place and seeing it in a way few got to.

“It’s just so strange,” Sam says. “You’re still my Lightkeeper.”

Sam is a typical ward of Joan’s; one that doesn’t need help balancing their magic reserves so much as a listening ear. Although she’s part valkyrie, a female beserker, she’s kept that part of herself shut away after her parents had died when the skill first appeared. Although Joan can relate to keeping a tight grip on one’s magic, it isn’t an appropriate conversation to have with Sam while a ward. As her sister-in-law though, that would be different.

“I doubt it’ll be that way for long. I know you were talking about bonding with Mark instead.”

Sam flushes. “Yes. We’re taking it slow. The flow of magic between Lightkeeper and ward can be...”

“...potent, yes.” They share a glance and then start giggling.

They arrive at Sam’s desk, already strewn with papers. The rest of the desks in the room are empty, but all of the lights are lit anyway. Sam fishes coasters out of her drawers and makes room on her desk for their coffees.

As Sam sits, Joan grabs a chair from the next workstation over. They take their morning dose of caffeine in silence and bliss.

“Now,” Sam says, “What brings you here, Joan?”

Joan exhales. “I need something for dreamless sleep. If it also doubles as protection, that would be excellent too.”

Sam perks up. She always did love a good mystery.

“Have you tried salting your windows and doors?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping with a glass of salt water by your head?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess if you’re here, you would’ve already tried those.” Joan can see the moment Sam moves from considering the theoretical options to realizing this is of personal interest to Joan. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just poor sleeping lately.”

Sam’s face is still creased with a frown. “I know we’re not family yet, but you know I don’t view you just as my Lightkeeper right? You’re my friend too, and you’re welcome to talk to me about things too. God knows you’ve seen me at my worst… That’s how friends work.”

Joan places her hand over Sam’s. “I know you do. If it becomes serious, I’ll let you know. But for now, just focus on you and Mark. I want both of you to be happy.”

“Alright. Well, Firefly Green recently took on a dreamwalker. I believe he mentioned some remedies. How about...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan meets her would-be dream lover in the flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 26, “But if you cannot see it, is it really there?”

The tea Sam suggested works like a dream. Joan is immensely relieved her mind is hers again and that she can focus on her wards again.

The dreams had made her more anxious than she realized. Caleb, who’d been one of her favorite wards, had asked her if she was doing okay. If a college freshmen could notice she was off, she was in a sad state of affairs.

(Watching him fall in love with Adam had reminded her of Mark falling in love for the first time as well. The soft spot is mutual. Even though Caleb’d recently moved to college and changed Lightkeepers, he still texted her. And Joan indulged him, even texting him back instead of calling.)

After a week of dreamless sleep, she deems the problem solved and rewards herself by checking out the latest exhibit at the museum. It was a highly anticipated exhibition on the origins of the Lightkeepers, with many of the pieces on loan from the Association’s headquarters in New Orleans.

Even on a Friday morning, the museum is busy; everyone loved those old myths about Lightkeepers. Following the ebb of the crowd, she moves deeper into the museum, the crowd dissipating as she goes. When she finally makes it the centerpiece, two murals that take up a full wall, she’s surprised no one is here. Perhaps it was because she had come in so early?

On the left is an original stone tablet, heavily worn away by time. On the right, an artist’s reimagining of what it looked like in its prime with its depiction of the three classes of Lightkeepers: the Fireflies with the lowest capacity to capture and hold the magic of others, Lanterns like herself with a middling range, and then above both of them the Beacons with what looked like a cyclone above their outreached hands. Between the groups, various supernatural creatures were drawn in spiraling circles.

She’d always found it a bit arrogant that Beacons were considered the superior kind of Lightkeeper. Just because a Beacon could store a veritable mountain of magic inside themselves didn’t make them better. Everyone had their role to play in their delicate ecosystem. Her own personal opinion was that the delineation between Lightkeeper and supernatural creature was an entirely arbitrary one; they were both people who lived with magic, but she knows better than to go against the Association’s public stance.

“Now I love me some riches, but the use of gold foiling on that is just too much,” a familiar voice says from behind her.

She turns around to shush him; they’re in a museum, not a park after all, but – A curtain of sparks brushes against her skin, making her shudder, and with it comes a gut-knowing.

“_You_,” she hisses.

Her unwanted visitor smiles, takes his hands out of his jeans, showing them to be empty. “Me,” he says smugly, wiggling his fingers.

He looks nothing like what she thought he would. Converse sneakers with dirty laces, a red hoodie that’s well-worn, a body that’s lankier and leaner than she remembered.

“You didn’t think I ran around in leather pants all the time now did you? Although for you, that could be arranged.” His voice at least, sounds exactly the same, like melted dark chocolate.

She meets his gaze, and ah, here is what he truly looks like. Black hair, a nose that’s been broken at least once, the kind of thick eyelashes men seemed to naturally receive.

It’s an unfamiliar face, and that troubles her. All supernaturals were required to register with the regional Association upon visiting or moving. It was an open secret that by binding with a Lightkeeper, the odds of supernatural crime decreased. If criminality came to a Keeper’s attention, they could easily siphon enough power to render them near-human. And from there, the authorities took them.

That’s why it was important to pair a supernatural with the right level of Lightkeeper, a Firefly would never be able to contain something like this sex fiend. As an upper-level Lantern, Joan could contain him, but it would have...unwanted consequences.

“Like what you see? I assure you, I do.”

He closes the distance between them in two strides, and swings her around by her hips. His hands then settle on her ass and squeeze in satisfaction. Her hips tip up before she realizes it.

Although she knows the museum is constantly air-conditioned, she feels herself growing hot.

“Don’t,” she says through clenched teeth.

“I know you like being manhandled,” he replies, waggling his eyebrows.

“That’s exactly the problem. While I may… enjoy certain activities, it’s with people who I _invite_ to do so. I certainly didn’t invite _you_.”

She places her hands on his chest, ready to push him away.

“Your mouth sure was telling a different story when you were begging for my fingers in your cunt instead of your ass.”

Her face flushes. “I don’t even know your name.”

His grin is downright devilish. “Aw, I’m touched you care. I’m Damien. The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

“Why are you here?”

“You’ve been a bad girl, hiding from me, so I had to come in person. Didn’t you like the games we were playing?”

Those devilish hands start working on the knots at the base of her spine. Conveniently for him, right above her butt. She wants him gone, but she wants the tension gone as well.

When she feels something release in her back, she bites back a groan. “No. Tell me why you came to this city.”

“I felt something… unique in this area awhile ago and came to check it out.” Her eyes narrow; if he’d been reaching her dreams from a distance, he’s certainly a… handful. “And while I was getting the lay of the land, I came across _you_. There’s no one like me, so of course I deserve someone just as unique.”

“I’m nothing unique,” she says flatly.

“Oh, now that’s a fucking lie _Lantern_ Bright. Your file says you’re Lantern class, but I don’t think that’s it.”

His face draws close to her, but at the last moment he smirks. Instead, he moves and inhales behind her ear, moving the hair there. “You smell like _power_. You sure you’re not a Beacon?”

She shoves him off of her, making sure she doesn’t step back at all.

“I’m sure if I was in the top tier of Lightkeepers, the one the Association hasn’t seen in this region in years, they would have figured that out already.”

He comes closer. She starts moving towards the wing’s exit.

“You sure you don’t want to become something more?” He pushes some of his magic out, and she feels it as a warm cascade against her skin, like entering a hot shower at the end of the day, more of the tension in her body melting away.

“Stop that,” she grits through her teeth.

“I don’t get you,” he says looking put out with his pout. “What girl denies a bond like this?”

“You’re saying there’s a link between us?”

He rolls his eyes. “Why do you think I had such an easy time visiting you so often? I assure you, it’s not common for an incubus to make repeated appearances like I have.”

“Can you see this bond?” she asks out of curiosity. She hadn’t studied much about incubuses, but who knew, she might have an incubus ward one day, and she wants to be prepared to help them as best she can.

“You’re saying because you can’t see it, it isn’t really there?” He throws his head back and laughs louder than anyone (other than small children) ought to in a museum. “Oh, wow, you really are cold bitch.”

S he turns her back on him, and the moment she leaves the room, there are suddenly people again.

His voice follows her,  “ We’ll be seeing each other, Joan!” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Prompt 4, “Will that be all?”

After witnessing what a prick Damien is in real life, she wants him in her dreams even less. She continues taking the tea and enjoys going to sleep alone. She very deliberately does not think about how often she’s recharging her Hitachi these days.

She is a bit upset she wasn’t able to finish seeing the museum, though, thanks to Damien’s presence. So when Mark mentions he wants to go, she happily goes again.

When they move through the mural room again, Joan tries not to think of Damien at all. Mark does give her a look though.

“What did that mural do to you, Joan?” he asked.

Joan gives him a glare, and he throws his hands up.

When they sit down at the Korean barbeque restaurant, she lets Mark call dibs on their bill under the pretense of “going to the bathroom,” since Joan paid for their tickets. For a museum, the restaurant is entirely all over the place in asthetic. Vinyl seats, wall scrolls that clearly have Chinese characters, bright lighting. She wouldn’t have noticed it, but Mark does.

As they pile their rice with condiments, she asks him how things with Sam are going.

“Things with Sam are going well. I know big events can make her anxious, so we’ll probably have a small reception later. Chloe’s already volunteered to help plan that.”

Chloe had been one of Joan’s first wards. She was a talented earth witch, her garden always filled with blooming flowers, planters full of herbs, carefully cultivated rows of food too. She’d even once seen the girl petting a _deer_. If she’s going to plan their reception, Joan is sure it will be magical in every sense of the word.

“She’s still looking after that stray dog?”

“Yup.” Mark adds more bean sprouts both to his bowl and Joan’s. She rolls her eyes.

“I assure you, my fiber intake is just fine.”

He points his chopsticks at her. “You should eat real vegetables, not just vitamins!” He loads even more vegetables on her rice.

The waitress comes by to refill their teas. “Will that be all for you guys?”

“Yes, thank you,” Mark says. Once she leaves, he takes a look around the restaurant to make sure no one’s near them. “So, Sam.”

“I have all the paperwork ready to go,” Joan replies. “All we need to do is sign it, and you’ll be Sam’s Lightkeeper instead of me.”

Mark makes a face, and she knows exactly what he’s going to say. “We’re already going to be married, I don’t need her to be my _ward_ on paper too. That’s just medieval Joanie.”

“I agree, but overhauling the current Lightkeeper system is something beyond both of our scopes. Besides, if I was still her Lightkeeper, and she started exchanging magic with you, I might get an echo of it. And I certainly don’t want to know about your sex life.”

Mark laughs, and Joan takes it in. His overgrown hair, the sheer joy on his face, the knit sweater Sam had made him last year as a joke but Mark wore all the time. Joan will do anything to keep him like this, free.

“When do you plan on telling her?” she continues, softly. She and Mark have had to talk about their shared secret often enough. They’re familiar with the subtle change in tones they use to cue each other in on the subject change.

“Soon,” he smiles, all unshakable confidence. “Sam won’t tell.”

“I know,” Joan replies, and she’s happy for two people she loves so much to be so happy together.

“So, what’s going on with you? Sam mentioned you were having trouble with nightmares?”

“Ugh.” She shoves a large chunk of meat in her mouth and imagines biting the smug look off Damien’s face. Mark waits patiently. “For some reason, an incubus has decided to bother me.”

Mark points his chopsticks at her. “Ok, so what’s the problem with that? That kinda seems an ideal situation for you. All the fun, none of the commitment.”

“I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with you, and you’re encouraging me to rebound from Owen with an incubus of dubious motivations. The problem is Damien is an _asshole_.”

“Well, he’s an incubus, I’m pretty sure his motivations are clear… Wait, Damien? Someone named Damien has been following me lately.”

“_Following you?!”_

He waves her concern off. “Joanie, you know sometimes rowdier members of the supernatural community are drawn to me. I figured he was another one of them, and I could convince him to bond with a different Lightkeeper. He was a bit too flirtatious even though I told him I’m happily engaged.”

Her brother is kind-hearted enough that Damien might actually wear him down, and there is no way Joan is letting her baby brother bond with that incubus. It would undo all of the work Joan had done to hide he was a Beacon.

“I’ll make him stop bothering you. It’s me he wants anyway.”

“Oh?”

And so, Mark cajoles out of her a carefully censored version of her last three months.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan would do anything for Mark, even deal with an incubus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 14 “Some people call this wisdom.”

When her parents told Joan she’d have a baby brother, she wasn’t sure what to feel. But the moment she saw her brother’s face, when she _named_ him, she knew she loved him as much as she loved learning.

When Mark was six, Joan found him talking to a centaur beneath the pear tree in their backyard. The two of them were haloed with magic that danced like fireflies, a veritable halo spiraling up like smoke. Joan felt something in Mark started to open up, like vibrations in the air.

“Mark!” she’d yelled across the overgrown lawn.

But her foolish brother swallowed the centaur’s magic, and Joan felt the exact moment her brother jumped from being a Firefly level Lightkeeper to a Lantern Lightkeeper. She couldn’t tear her eyes away; it felt like like gravity ceased existing, and then everything pulled towards Mark and his eyes were _shining _like the sun through storm clouds.

She’s not sure how she did it or why, but from what some people might call wisdom, she let her magic slowly spread out and form a bubble around his. He stopped shining to the world like a bonfire..

Rushing towards him, she held him tightly, the smell of detergent strong in her lungs.

“What’s wrong, Joanie?” She could feel the way his magic has changed, deepened, capable of absorbing and expending even more magic now.

The centaur looked at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. He looked at Mark, nodded his head, and then jumped over their fence, golden fireflies still clinging to its grey hide.

Joan had known Mark’s capacity to hold magic had been growing fast, but she’d never heard of someone becoming a Lantern at his age. Joan, like the rest of her peers, had made the jump to Lantern near adolescence.

His capacity continued to grow, and Joan suspected he was about to become the first Beacon in their region in years. So she kept her magic over his, pressing it into a thin, but strong layer, making him appear less powerful than he was.

At 19, Mark had wanted to travel abroad before working for the Association, but Joan didn’t think she could shield him with an ocean between them – salt was good at that – and she couldn’t take time off.

“What would you do if you became a Beacon while in South America?” she asked.

He threw his hands up. “Beacons are much more common there than the US and Europe combined!”

“I know their Association has a good reputation, but you never know what they’re _really_ like when presented with a power like yours.”

Picking up his ugly Christmas sweater and camera, he’d shouted, “You and your secrets, Joanie! Not everything is a conspiracy! Sarah just became a Beacon, and she’s doing just fine!”

As Joan moved up in the Academy and then, after graduating at the top of her class, had been recruited to work for the Association, there were rumors of anyone suspected of being a Beacon suddenly working for the Association, only to never to be seen again.

A week later, while Mark was still avoiding her, he made the jump to Beacon, from a unicorn of all things. Again, she felt the moment it happened. His magic pushed against her bubble, stretching it thinner and thinner, and she had to extend the bubble _down_ for all the reservoir he was acquiring.

Luckily, she’d gotten very good at hiding both his magic and hers. In thanks, part, to gaining earlier access to the restricted library area of the Academy, under the guise of helping her classmates. When the moment had passed, Joan saw lights against the back of her eyelids, and felt like her body was floating in water.

A week later, he returned to her apartment. “Sarah’s been ‘recruited’ by the Academy, and no one’s seen her since.” He dropped his face into his hands, taped up from touching the unicorn’s horns and picking rocks out of its hooves. “I guess this is what they call being wise.”

“I’m sorry, Mark.” And she was, sorry that neither of their lives belonged to them as long as they kept hiding what they were.

She suspects people never realized she’d been hiding how much magic he could absorb with her own, since their magic has a similar signature. She wishes she could find out exactly why, but the important thing is that no one can sense he’s Beacon class.

So there is no way Joan’s going to let an incubus snooping around her brother undo all the years of work she’s done to keep him safe. She doesn’t want to imagine losing him because she was too proud to set aside her ego.

Eating her microwaved dinner, Joan isn’t entirely sure how to summon the incubus. She doesn’t want to do anything like a ritual; that’s not her specialty, and she doesn’t want any unexpected results. Sex magic would probably do the trick, but she doesn’t want to commit to anything with him.

Well, there is one way to draw supernatural creatures to a Lightkeeper.

Joan begins to release the careful hold she keeps on her barely used magic reserves.

While Lightkeepers couldn’t cast spells, only absorb the magic from others and redistribute it, they still felt like magic to others. As time went on, and her body steeped in the presence of magic, Joan had been told she’d smelled like fresh meat by werewolves, sounded like seafoam by sirens, and tasted of iron by vampires.

Or, as Head Lantern Wadsworth had said when she’d joined the Association, “Once our bodies have absorbed enough magic, we’re irresistible to supernaturals; they would eat us up if they could. The thought of all that magic in our bones.”

Additionally, nature abhors a void, and something about a Lightkeeper who was available to store magic was an irresistible lure to supernatural creatures. They seemed unable to resist the curiosity, like opening the oven to smell what was cooking.

If the Association hadn’t already bound up all the supernaturals to a Lightkeeper, she’d be swarmed with them. However, she’s banking that Damien is one of the only unregistered supernatural in the area and arrogant enough to beat out anyone else from finding her first. And given he’s been trying to … persuade her, he’ll likely be keeping tabs on her some way.

Satisfied with how much of her magic signature she unfurled, she dumps the plastic container in the trash. She has a yoga class to get to.

Damien’ll find her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan strikes a bargain with the incubus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * For prompt 3 “How can I trust you?”  

> * Joan going to her yoga class is an oblique reference to radioqueen14’s [Patient #5-E-3 (Damien – Home Visit).](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838193)  

> * Sexy coffee drinking inspired by auri_mynosys’ [Wiles of a Woman](https://starscreams-tiara.tumblr.com/tagged/Wiles%20of%20a%20Woman)  

> * Andreya’s name is a nod to the werehyenas in Ilona Andrews’ Kate Daniels series. I am Team Bouda Babe 100%!

Of course, Damien arrives right as she’s doing downward dog. He announces his presence the same way she did hers, extending the feel of his magic out to hers.

Unlike Joan’s fast outpour, Damien lets his out slowly, the tendrils making their way toward her slowly. The wait is aggravating, and it’s hard to concentrate on pulling her hips up and pushing her feet down. Both because she doesn’t want to give him a view of her ass, and because she’s dreading the moment his magic comes into contact with her.

She rolls into plank and shuts off the signal of her own magic. No need to broadcast it now that he’s here. Sweat starts collecting on her forehead.

“And chaturanga!” the teacher yells.

His magic is molasses, sweet smelling, thick down her throat. Still, he curls his magic up her body, a whisper against her ankle, slick up her spine, over the top of her head, and the _asshole_ drips it down her nipples until they harden. She hopes her classmates don’t think she finds upward dog this exciting.

He continues letting his magic recede and surge against her body as the class continues, ruining what would otherwise be a very satisfying power yoga class.

She throws herself into the next cycles of Sun Salutation B, sinking lower into her squat, arching further into the back bend. If she can focus on how hard this is on her body, she can ignore him.

The teacher singles out Joan’s enthusiasm. “What pose do you want to do next?”

“I want to go another salutation,” she grits. The class makes a collective groan, and she hears some expletives.

In downward fold, Joan doesn’t know what’s worse, that the ropes of his magic are tight against her hips and thighs, or that they’re not touching what she wants them to. She stifles a groan.

When the instructor lets them spend the last ten minutes of class silently in corpse pose, Joan is done. She uses the time not emptying her mind, but meditating to strengthen her shield between her magic and his. It doesn’t work like it should, and her brain (she can hear the teacher saying, “put the thought on a leaf, and let it float down the river”) chases after why.

As she’s figuring out the essential oil blend – lemon, lavender, and what? – on the teacher’s hands, the teacher whispers, “Joan, stop thinking so loudly. You worked hard, relax.” She presses her thumbs over Joan’s third eye and then moves on to the next student.

When class is over, Andreya saunters over to her, unconscious of the way her body moved in a way Joan envies. Her hair, threaded with silver, is the only hint she’s older than thirty. It’s strange to see it pulled back with the headband, when Joan usually sees her at the grocery store with afro puffs.

Andreya sits down beside Joan as she wipes her mat down. “So, who’s the young man waiting for you?”

“Nobody.” Joan sprays the mat some more, imagining it’s his face.

“Oh, are you playing hard to get? We used to do that back in my day, give a little bit of a lure, let the lucky boy or girl come chasing you. Usually I did the chasing.” Andreya’s grin is both nostalgic and dirty. Of course a were-hyena would enjoy that.

“_No_,” Joan says much more vehemently than she intended.

The two exit the practice room to collect their belongings. Damien’s wearing a leather jacket that Joan can practically smell, sneakers again, and jeans cut a bit closer to his body. His version of dressing up, she supposes. Did he dress up to seduce someone else before coming here? No, incubus were notorious for being _dream_ lovers but horribly lazy in real life. Had he dressed up for her?

Andreya takes a deep inhale. “He could use some cleaning up, but his magic smells quite appealing,” she says softly.

As she passes Damien, he taps Andreya’s ass, and she giggles. “Ooooh, Joan, you picked a good one. He could be fun.”

“Stop harassing my classmates,” Joan states flatly.

He shrugs. “She wanted it.” Seeing the thunder on Joan’s face, he quickly adds, “My magic, yeah?”

Her tirade fades into a frown. She focuses on finding her shoes and tying them instead.

“Soooo you always work that hard in yoga?” he gives her a once over from her dripping face, messy ponytail, to the sweat marks on her pants. “Gotta say I love the look.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Joan!” one of her other classmates says. “You’re killing my namaste.”

“I’m sorry Rosa.” She grabs her shit, hauls Damien by his arm to the coffee shop next door and sits down in a booth somewhat obscured by ficuses. There’re enough noisy customers to mask their conversation.

She’s craving a dark roast with lots of acid. Damien brings her one.

She grudgingly drinks it, her whole body singing with the relief of caffeine. Her stomach grumbles. Then he slides her a breakfast sandwich leftover from the morning – egg, cheese, bacon, ham, lots of grease. Her eyebrows twitch.

“Did you forget I specialize in knowing what people what?” he sounds bemused. Joan finds it smug.

“Incubi aren’t known for using it much outside of feeding.”

He makes a pointed look at the sandwich she’s now devouring. “Looks like I’m doing just fine,” he states.

“You know what I mean.”

He shrugs. “Not my fault you don’t know everything.” The wax paper crinkles as she licks the crumbs from the bottom. “Jesus, woman, didn’t you eat before that class? I’ll get you another.”

She had, but she’d been so hungry lately. “No. You ruined what was going to be a satisfying power yoga class.”

“Weren’t you trying to draw my attention? Well, you succeeded, here I am… at your pleasure,” he purrs.

Jesus, did he ever stop with the terrible pick up lines? “That display with your magic with all my classmates was excessive.” She could still feel his magic, a hum right beneath her skin.

“Who says it wasn’t all for you?”

“Right,” she says dryly.

“Jealous, much? Don’t worry, I saved my special sauce just for you.” He winks. She feels her molars grind against one another.

“What are you doing stalking my brother?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

He sighs. A student passes them to toss his coffee in the trash. “Hey man,” Damien says, “I’ll take that.” Damien plucks the cup from his hands and takes a long chug. The student gives him an odd look and walks away.

“Ah yeah. Right, so your brother. Nice guy.”

Joan resists crumpling the sandwich wrapper and shoving it into his mouth.

“I want you to leave him alone.”

Even with all the body heat in the coffee shop, Joan’s cooling down, and her sweat is cold and uncomfortable against her skin. She prays her breasts don’t reflect how cold she is.

“I will, if you promise me you’ll stop ignoring me.”

It’s bad negotiation to tell him she’ll do anything he wants, and maybe he picks up on that. He smiles slowly and licks his lips. They’re dry, and Joan isn’t tempted by chapped lips.

“What does not ignoring you mean?”

“Let me back into your dreams.”

“No.”

“Then let me take you on a date.”

“How can I trust you’ll keep your word?”

He laughs. “How can I trust you won’t just report me to the Association? You know they love _studying_ rare creatures.”

Joan keeps her magic carefully close to her, not a whiff of her to be found, but she still feels like a hare caught in his snare. She hates it.

“It’s a deal then.” She extends her hand. Formalizing an agreement, kept all parties bound to a certain degree, and she’d take any protection she can get.

Instead, he seals their agreement a different way. Reaching out with an ink-smeared palm, he knocks her hand away. Instead, he reaches for her coffee. And then, taking care to not take his eyes off of hers, he turns the cup, places his lips right over where hers had been, and finishes her coffee.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan learns what Netflix and Chill is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 23 “This is not new, it only feels like it.”
> 
> Sexy magic sharing was inspired by BlackVelvetBand’s [Tossed Aside](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3526416/1/Tossed-Aside).

Friday night, there’s a knock at her door. Joan doesn’t typically answer the door for unexpected guests, but it is the time of the year the elementary school students sell cookie dough.

She’s in sweatpants and a flannel button-up, but the students won’t care how she’s dressed. When she opens the door, she’s greeted by Damien’s face instead.

“Whassup, Lantern Bright! What’s up with that name anyway, your last name is Bryant, after all.”

She grips the edge of the door, and reminds herself even if he had sealed their agreement oddly – with an indirect kiss rather than a handshake – it still counts, and she can’t shut the door in his face.

Instead, she tries to burn holes into his leather jacket by the force of her glare. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work, so she states, “It’s so we aren’t as easily traced. To prevent things like this, where wards randomly show up on our doorstep. How did you get my address?”

“I asked your secretary. Stella?”

“Sarah. You shouldn’t be going into the Association if your goal is to be unnoticed. And you shouldn’t coerce people to give you information either.”

“Don’t worry, she loves her pumpkin spice lattes, so I got the info out of her there. Besides, she wanted to; she was thrilled you had a date.”

Lord help her.

“I gave you my phone number.”

“I tried that, but you never replied to my text.”

Eyeing the lampposts behind him, she sighs. “It’s a landline.”

“Whoa! You even still have one of those?”

“I’ll… give you my cell number instead, but I do prefer phone calls. So, to what do I owe your presence?” She brings her gaze back to him.

“I’m here to take you on that date I promised.” Hands in his pockets, he leans forward and smiles at her sweats. “Are we Netflix and chilling?”

“What?”

“Aw man, Joan you gotta get with the times. I was gonna take you out for drinks, but I can come in instead.”

“No. A bar is fine. Let me get dressed first.”

She closes the door, but he whines, “It’s cold! At least let me wait inside.”

“Ugh, fine. But please don’t snoop, and keep to the entryway.” She shoots him one last glance over her shoulder and goes into her bedroom.

Grabbing, the first things that go together, she doesn’t even try to put together a decent ensemble. Black jeans, a tank top with some band’s name emblazoned on it that Mark had done photography for, a T-shirt bra that hid well under it.

She goes back out, but Damien isn’t there.

“Over here!”

So much for not snooping.

She spots his leather jacket across the back of her brown couch, along with his arm. As she draws nearer, she sees his legs half on, half-off the couch. His pants are loose enough that even with his legs sprawled out so unceremoniously she can’t see the outline of his crotch. Her TV screen is painted with the familiar black and red of Netflix.

“What happened to the bar?” she says. She’d gotten dressed, damn it. Looking at his light-wash jeans and faded t-shirt, she wonders if this was his plan all along – who went to a bar looking like that for a date?

“I can tell you rather watch TV instead. There’s a NOVA documentary on comets Netflix’s recommending you.”

It does sound good, she’d been meaning to watch it. But as much as she wants to get back into her pajamas, she is not taking her bra off anywhere near him.

Damien proves to be a decent Netflix wingman. When she grabs soda, he finds the popcorn in her pantry.

“And people assume _I_ live like bachelor,” he grumbles. “How does your brother let you live like this?” He continues pawing through her supple of ready-made food, the packaging crinkling.

“He’s my brother, not my keeper. And it stopped being his business when he moved out.” She digs out the large bowls to put the popcorn in, one orange, the other purple.

They move back to her couch. Joan eyes his pair of beat sneakers with dismay – all  that city grime ,  from the sidewalks and onto  on her floor, how much of it had he tracked all over her clean floors? Best to pick her battles. She sits on one end of the couch.

She’s pleasantly surprised when he sits like a regular person, his butt on the seat, feet on the floor. Best of all, he’s sitting a reasonable distance away from her.  H e can’t pull that “I’m just stretching my arm over your shoulder” move. He toes the shoes off and kicks them to the side,  then  looks to her like he’s expecting a thank you. When he realizes none is forthcoming, he hits play.

As Michio Kaku’s voice flows over her, and Damien thankfully doesn’t try to talk over it, Joan feels herself melting into the couch.

The next time she remembers to look over at him, they’ve finished their popcorn, and Damien’s edged closer to her. He avoids her gaze.

Well, if she’s going to be...with him, she needs to do her diligence as a Lightkeeper. It was one of the first lessons they drilled into students at the Academy: never be involved with a supernatural whose magic you couldn’t totally consume.

Last time, she’d made a display of letting her magic roll out of her. This time, she’s more subtle about it, timing it with her exhales, a slow, patient process. Could she contain him? She wants to test her magic against his, see how much he has, confirm she has enough strength to drain his magic and render him just a man who can be taken out with brute force. 

She’s so close to his magic, her body shudders at the memory. Then, he lets his magic out in one flood, swallowing her tendril and pulling her _into _his.

N ot like a Lightkeeper trying to drain someone’s magic, but like a kid dumping red and blue together to see what color it’ll make together.  The unflinching and unhesitating joy in getting your hands dirty, in the exploration.  Her small trickle turns into a flood and Joan dimly feels herself gasp  as she feels her sense of self be submerged in –

I f before, his magic had been languid, teasing, this is pure decadence. Long soaks in her bathtub with the expensive salts and melts ( _how about I join you there? Your tub would be a tight fit, but I’m sure we’ll manage)_ . Her favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream, that uses actually good dark chocolate ( _you could eat that off me, it’d be sticky and messy, but that’s what the bathtub’s for right?)_ .  The feel of a well-made silk lined skirtsuit ( _wait, they _ line _ suits? With silk?_ ) against her skin ( _when are you going to let me be against your skin? C’mon Joan, how many times have you used that vibrator of yours thinking about how my cock’s gonna feel when we finally fuck. What sound will you make when I first push into you? I’m leaking precum, you’re wet, and you won’t be able to say you didn’t want this, want me. Let’s – )_

She grabs his shirt in her fists, and captures his mouth.  She can taste the Pepsi he washed the popcorn down with. Licking further into his mouth, everything is still crossed – mint ice cream, his mouth is wet, the sound of her cunt when she fingers herself.

Straddling him, she squeezes her thighs against his body once. Then starts grinding her hips, his hands settle on her waist, helping her move from stuttering bursts, to a smooth rhythm that leaves her  in anticipation each time her clit bumps against his cock.

Even with him his magic blanketing hers, she starts taking his magic. She takes and takes, but still there’s more for her to consume.

She wants more. Releasing h is mouth, and grip on  his hair (when had she done that?) ,  she pulls up his shirt.  She needs it off now, wants his skin against hers.  He lets her, and she tosses it somewhere. She looks at the terrain of his chest, plots where best to leave a trail of marks.

“Holy fuck,” he says. 

He grabs the  neckline of her tank, and  yanks i t and her bra down.  He’s such a man, nipples are an easy mark. There, right above his collar bone is where she’s going to start, then move down his back and – 

“Okay, lady’s choice,” he pants. He places one open-mouthed kiss over her breast, and then leans back against the couch.

She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t remember why, not when it’s the best she’s felt in so long. Her magic doesn’t want to let go of his, wants to keep drinking him down, like drinking water when thirsty and feeling it coat your stomach, his magic filling hollow parts of her and it _feels_ – How much more, better, will it feel when she comes?

His palms pushing into and down her back, digging into her hips. The way he looks at her, like she’s a goddess just his to worship.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he says breathlessly. (Was she?) He leans up and switches their position, her body between the hardness of his body and the soft give of the couch.

He presses his palm against the seam of her jeans, then unbuttons her. She wants more pressure against her clit, groaning in frustration, but she still lifts her hips to help him pull her jeans off.

He slides off the couch, between her legs, her pants hanging off one ankle. His hair is ruined (she did that), and his fingers hook into her panties. She watches his wet mouth (also her work_) _form words. It takes a moment for them to catch up. “Gonna gag you with these panties.”

Joan finds herself, pulls away from him. “No,” and she hates how breathless she sounds, even to herself.

He lets go of the underwear. Holds her waist and stares into her eyes. She pulls away and gathers up herself, pulling her tank up and adjusting her breasts back into the bra. She’d never had guilty trysts as a teen (she had wanted to though), but this feels like one, down to the confusion and guilt. Looking around, Damien is right where she last saw him on the couch. _She’d_ been the one to close the distance between them.

“No,” she repeats to herself.

He slowly sits, putting space between them. His magic is muted once more, and she still wants to grind against his lap, capture her orgasm, know the look on his face as she came. Stepping around him, she finds his shirt, hands it to him.

His skin is damp with sweat (she should’ve left marks on him), but he’s practically glowing. While she’d been busy trying to drink all his magic, he’d fed off her magic, her desire. Of course he had.

“What kind of game are you playing with me?” she asks when he’s pulling his head through the shirt. “This kind of single-minded pursuit of a single person is new for an incubus.”

He quickly shrugs the rest of the shirt on. “Joan,” he says, “This isn’t anything new, it only feels like it to you because –”

“You need to go,” she says, wiping her mouth with her fingers. “I won’t renege on our agreement, but I --” her legs are cold without his body heat. “I need time. For tonight, at least.”

He makes to reach out for her, but thinks better of it. Instead, he merely says, “Alright, Joan. I’ll be seeing you.” That he goes so easily bothers her, but she can’t figure out why. A mystery for another day.

Even with the documentary still playing, she hears the door shut behind him. She lets out the shaky exhale she’d been holding and sinks back onto the couch. She toes her jeans off her ankle, and slides one hand over her undies. It’s still toe-curling, her body still buzzing from Damien. It only takes her a couple of strokes to bring herself to orgasm. When she makes it to her bedroom, she comes embarrassingly quickly yet again with her vibrator.

She can practically hear him saying, _I could’ve done that for you. My fingers are wider than yours, __my magic deeper reaching than the rumble of your vibrator. Y__ou would’ve loved it. __You’re missing out Lantern B._

Her third orgasm is with a quartz dildo she’d never used – it’d been a gift from an ex, a warlock who’d sworn it was a multipurpose item – and even with her cunt clenching tightly around it, she still wants more.

There are still parts of her, other than her pussy, that want more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreams resume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 2 “People like you have no imagination.”

Joan tell herself what she did was a natural response to magic exchanged between people sexually interested in one another. While the embarrassment lingers, she at least now knows she could swallow his power even if it would push past her limits as an upper range Lantern. Why an asshole like him would have all this magic escapes her, but she’s relieved he seems to be too lazy to use it for anything truly nefarious.

He doesn’t visit her again, although he texts her inane things:

> _why do you have generic ramen in your pantry, can’t u afford actual top ramen at least?_
> 
> _cookies or cupcakes, y/n_
> 
> _lemme see you_
> 
> _wait u know what gifs are???_
> 
> _ugh mondays suck_

When the full moon arrives a few days later, she’s drinks her dreamless sleep tea as she’s been doing, and goes to bed.

She dreams of him. They’re on a couch – not hers. It’s a horrible plaid pattern that should only be on Christmas sweaters, but the fabric feels comfortable under her thighs. She wears the same pajamas – shorts and worn T-shirt.

Damien, of course, is sitting next to her, his thigh just brushing hers. He’s not wearing pants this time, and Joan’s eyes skates away from his worn-soft looking boxers.

He laughs. “Silly girl, I knew seeing my in my glory would be too much for you.” He straddles her, setting into her lap with a small turn of his hips. She places her thumbs on his hips, finding his hip bones easily.

“Now,” he continues, “last time I was generous. It’s _my _turn now.”

Pulling her shirt up, he takes his time with her breasts. It’s clear he’s aiming to leave marks, quick licks, a hint of teeth, the suction of his mouth. It’s not long until Joan’s resisting pulling his mouth to meet hers, or push his head down. She settles for pushing him away, but he pins her wrists against the couch, pushing her nipples closer to his mouth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he murmurs. With a flick, his tongue finally meets her nipples, and her hips buck. His hands steady her, and with her hands free, she takes her shirt off. In reward, he does _something_ with his tongue, but it’s not enough. He mouths at her shoulder like he’s searching for just the right spot, and then he bites hard, and it’s just the right side of hurt.

He spends the rest of the night only kissing her from the waist up. He doesn’t let her grind against his lap, although he does talk about all the creative uses he has for her breasts while kneading them. By the end, he only leaves her with soft, delicate kisses. She curses him, tries to get him back to the right mix of cocky surety and simmering aggravation, but he only chuckles.

The dreams return after that, no matter how much tea she drinks. It’s as if a door’s been left a jar, and Damien is determined to weasel his way in further with each night. It must be a side-effect of their earlier... escapade at her apartment.

It’s frustrating both because she thought she was rid of him in her dreams, and because there’s a part of her who finds the return to routine comforting.

* * *

Not wanting to impose on Sam already busy with wedding planning, and unwilling to leave an email trail on the matter, Joan does her own research.

It’s clear from the dreams that Damien enjoys getting a rise out of her. One time he’d dangled a D-ring collar from his finger, then leather cuffs with fleece lining. They never used them either, he just liked seeing the face she made. She’d done her best to inure herself from anything remote sexually shocking or cliché. She hopes no one is able to see her recent internet search history.

On the crescent moon, she goes to bed prepared to combine her internet research with lucid dreaming.

She wakes, and knows this is a dream. The lucid dreaming is becoming easier than it’d ever been during her Academy days; due to the practice she’s getting most likely. She’s in her usual yoga studio, alone. The mats are freshly cleaned and stacked away, the smell of lavender and vinegar in the air. She walks across the floor, enjoying the way studio floors are always softer than usual wood floors.

Next to the assortment of props – bolsters, straps, wheels for people infinitely more flexible than her – is a large black chest.

That’s not supposed to be there. She takes a breathe and opens it. Some kind of full-leather mask, a crop, Wartenberg wheel, violet wand, a vibrator larger than hers. For being a sex demon, he was oddly keen on pulling from stereotypes.

She shuts it, the lid heavier than it should. The moment of truth. She turns around and –

Saving those notes from her class and going over them again was well-worth it. She’d focused hard before going to bed imagining this. Damien bound on the floor, pulling his limbs against the cuffs hooked to the eyelets in the floorboards. He’s even in the loose cotton shirt and close fitting shorts she’d wanted. They had silver piping on them that matched her yoga capris though. She hadn’t meant for that.

She walks over to him, able to hear his protests past the pair of underwear she’d imagined stuffed in his mouth. Kneeling next to him, she takes the undies out of his mouth.

“And you thought people like me have no imagination,” she says, looking down at him, the panties hanging off her fingers.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises,” he rumblese. “If you think a little bondage is going to put me off, you have no idea.”

She’d only meant to assert she wasn’t going to take his invasion of her privacy idly and then leave. But she’d forgotten in dreams, some things were harder to hide. And although she’d restrained Damien, this was still his specialty.

There’s a feeling at the base of her skull, and while yes, there’s an idle to desire to stay to see what will happen, it shouldn’t feel this big. That want bubbles up in her, moving from a thought down to her clit. He’s doing something to stoke that desire, she _knows_ that and yet –

Hiking his shirt up, it takes some doing, but she’s able to leave those marks she’d wanted to above his collarbones.

And if the thinness of yoga attire works in her favor, letting her see the outline of his erection and rub herself against it to orgasm, well – it was just a dream after all, it wasn’t like it meant anything.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 7 “No worries, we still have time.”
> 
> Makeout inspired by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eStqTFcGcCE) (if you know what the original video is, let me know!). It also inspired the tongue piercing after conversations with R.
> 
> P.S. The penguin slide is an oblique reference to Cardcaptor Sakura. XD

Joan recognizes the park. It’s the same as when she and Mark had played as kids from the blue penguin slide to the polar bear see-saw with faded paint around its ears.

Something catches her attention at the corner of her eye. She’s expecting Damien (if he’s going to try and play doctor in this park, she is going to – ), but this is something else entirely.

It’s her, at sixteen on the swing set. Bootcut jeans rolled up but falling down at the back, a plain shirt, and sneakers; what she usually wore, despite the other girls teasing her for it. Her navy blue backpack, complete with all its buttons, leans against the frame.

Joan takes a moment, closes her eyes, and centers herself. What is she feeling, both in herself and from the dream?

It’s calm like the surface of still waters. No roiling waves of lust bubbling up from her, no hair raising magic currents. Just her, only her.

She walks over to the girl on the swing.

“Hello,” Joan says, looking straight into her eyes. “Would you like me to push you?”

Joanie gives a bright smile. “Yes, please!” She begins kicking her feet back and forth.

Grabbing the chains coated in yellow plastic, Joan gives her a hard push.

Joanie’s giggles are loud. “This is fun! You should join me Joan!”

Joan takes the swing next to her, just tall enough for her to manage if she scrunches her legs up. She takes slow, measured swings as Joanie goes higher and higher.

Their momentum eventually matches, Joan gaining speed and Joanie slowing down.

“So,” Joanie says, “when are you gonna stop ignoring me?”

Joan looks over at her, “What?”

“I know you like your life like it is. I like it too! I like that we wear skirt suits, and we were able to cut our hair, even if Mark made it _asymmetrical_. But I want to grow Joan, and you’re holding me too tightly.” 

The sun is rising quickly behind Joanie, and Joan can see that same radiance in her eyes. Her own eyes widen, watching magic, golden and liquid, rising off Joanie’s body like morning mist. Feels her body suspend at the apex of the swing, that curious sensation of floating like just after the drop on a roller coaster. Like, if she stepped off the swing, she could _fly_.

This is –

Her voice makes Joan see auras, taste every shade of amber in the sky. The whole world could be theirs.

“I miss you. Don’t you miss me too?”

* * *

Joan wakes up with her teenage self’s words in her ears and her face wet, to one new text message.

_yuo _ _still owe me a date_

She agrees, sets the time and location, and then ignores the phone the rest of the day. Her paperwork on all her wards is due at the Association tomorrow, and she spends the day working through it. They prefer her to use the online forms, but she’s never quite gotten the hang of that, instead printing them and filling them out by hand.

5pm (early enough she could still salvage the rest of the night), she stops to roll her wrists and stretch out her neck. At 5:15pm, her phone rings.

“I’m outside your door,” Damien says.

Joan scrapes her hair into a hasty bun, and opens the door. “I told you I’d meet you there.”

He shrugs. This sweatshirt has a stain peeking from beneath the hood and the hems of the sleeve are coming apart. His jeans, at least, are clean. Then again, Joan recycled her outfit from the last time he’d tried to take her out – he was not seeing any of her date night outfits.

She watches him lick his lips, shape his mouth into a smirk. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night. Never know what sort of things go bump in the night.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. I just don’t like people playing with things that are mine.”

* * *

The date is awful and tedious, and Joan checks her wristwatch discretely. She downs two scotches, while Damien drinks a _Bud Light_, when there are any number of IPAs and house made hard ciders available. 

How this constitutes a date in Damien’s mind is beyond Joan. It’s a perfunctory, like he’s following a movie script: move my hand here, oh look, she needs another drink, order her a third, make small talk while trying to smolder at her over my drink.

Eventually, when she’s worried he might start asking her about the weather, she interjects, “You know, you don’t have to try and be this self-assured person all the time. You can be yourself too.”

“Who says that’s not who I am?” He leans over, placing his elbows on the tall table they’re sitting at.

She levels him a look, clenches her left hand around her cold glass. _Seriously?_ “You’re a jerk a lot of the times, and this,” she waves her other hand. “Is not you. You’re a guy who wears generic deodorant because it’s cheap, barely does his laundry, and wouldn’t know good fashion if it hit you upside the head. And as much as you may annoy me, you are capable of being genuine. This is _not.”_

He sets his beer down. “So what you’re saying is you like me better in your dreams?”

“_No_. What I’m saying is I prefer you being yourself. Who you are in the dreams, while fun, is just as much a projection as this everyday guy you’re trying at here. You insist on taking me on dates, but the whole point of that is to get to know another person. I don’t know anything about you.”

He blinks at her, tilts his head to the side, and finishes his beer in silence.

“Huh.”

He pays for their drinks and walks her home. The bar’s only a couple of blocks from Joan’s house, which is why she doesn’t mind walking to it. Although night’s fallen, the blocks are all well-lit and often full of foot traffic well into the night.

A fter a few moments of silence, he states, “But aren’t dreams more genuine?  I can be  whoever you want , see what other people are like under all the pretenses of being  _good_ they put on for the rest of the world.”

“Sometimes it’s trying to be good, despite our less honorable impulses, that makes us good.”

“What do your dreams say about you, Joanie?”

Joan’s stride skips; her boot’s going to have a scuff now. “What?”

“Aww, you’re shivering, c’mere.” He slides his arm around her waist, and the warmth does feel good. At first he pulls her in too close; their hips and thighs sliding against each other. Once she makes a little more space, matching their strides turns out to be easier than she thought given their height difference.

She enjoys the sound of their steps against the concrete. The way the world is quiet and still beneath the city lights, leaving this space just hers. All the other people put away behind their homes and businesses. She wonders what they’re doing behind their closed doors and walls. And while she rankles against the idea of being Damien’s anything, she entertains the daydream of seeing what he’s like when his toys are taken away. Would he be dangerous in his anger, or fun?

He makes a quick stop at the corner store and leaves with a bag full of something. She eyes it cautiously.

When they return to her apartment, he sings, “Darling, we’re home!” swinging the bag. He doesn’t even untie his shoes, just toes them off at the heels.

He hands the bag to her, stuffed with God only knows what. She takes it, slipping out of his arm, and carries it to the kitchen table.

“A thank you would be nice. See, even if the bag says it.”

She looks at the red text embossed on the bag, then inside the bag.

“What is this?”

“Non-GMO, organic ramen! I’m pretty sure it’s brand name too.”

She carefully takes each of them out, a random assortment of flavors. Sorting them on the glass top by flavor, she realizes he probably grabbed two of each kind of flavor available.

Sitting down at her kitchen table with less grace than she wishes, she asks, “What is this?”

He looks back from the entrance to her kitchen, unphased. “I’m setting the bar low, so I can easily exceed them.”

“I’m serious Damien, what exactly are you doing? Incubuses aren’t known for taking this kind of interest in individuals, especially outside of dreams.” The table is cold against her elbows, and she smooths the hair back from her face. Joan has wards to help, a boss suspiciously curious about her career ambitions, a best friend trying not to freak out about getting married, a brother to hide, and even though she’s been celibate by necessity and not by choice since breaking up with Owen, she does not need Damien with his strange sex obsession further complicating her life.

She rubs her head behind her ears.

Damien eats up the space between them and circles behind her. “You’re so tense,” he murmurs as his thumbs dig into tight muscles. She stifles a groan. He leans in close to her ear, his breath tickling her. “Do you think you’re not worth the effort? How about I try to persuade you...”

Her breath hitches at the first touch of his lips against her nape. He drops another small wet kiss closer to where she wants.

His hands stop kneading her shoulders, and instead, gathers her hair, pulls her head back, scrapes his teeth along the length of her neck. Her shoulders drop she drops her head to the side. She wants the massage back, but this is fine too.

He’s not as hurried as he was in their dream. His tongue traces patterns, and there’s also something else, a piercing? The texture is novel, and she wants more of it. He smiles against her skin, and begins leaves nibbling bites. She can hear herself panting, she wants more than just this. She wants –

The feeling in her skull is familiar though, of an idle want being more than it should. It’s not as strong as it was in the dream, and she could resist it if she wanted to.

She can hear her clock ticking in the background, and their breathing quickening over it.

Fuck it, she deserves something nice in her life, at this exact moment, even if she regrets it later.

She pushes down her tank and bra strap, and he bites into the muscle. She groans, he laughs, she loves the way she can feel it vibrate against her.

He gives her the force she wants, his hand gliding under her bra cups and squeezing her hard. The angle’s wrong, but she does her best to lick her way into his mouth. His other hand tries to press into the seam of her jeans, but he can’t quite reach. Instead, he pulls up on the belt loops, adjusingt the angle of it against her and letting her ride the seam against the chair.

They settle into a slow rhythm, and Joan turns to grab some part of him, but he locks his arm around her chest. He begins sucking on the other side of her neck. Her small, bitten off moans becoming deeper as finds the exact spot next to her windpipe she loves. She wants to know if she can come from this alone.

He tweaks one nipple, still directing the angle of her neck with his other hand. That hand pulls and tugs her hair in parts, and he groans when he pushes his face into it and inhales deep.

She’s too aware of his presence behind her, to her shame, waiting in anticipation for the touch of his magic against hers.

He whispers into her ear. She squirms, feeling his breath so close to the spot that makes her core clench. “You want to play with my magic? You don’t need to wait for me, you let out that golden honey smell of your magic, and it’s like the scent of your pussy. I’m going to be _all over_ that. I didn’t like how you let the whole damn city be able to feel that magic of yours. They don’t deserve it; they haven’t worked like I have for it.

“So what are you waiting for, Joan? I’ll give you exactly what you need, and then some. Just let that magic of yours out to play.”

Her spine shudders. And she does want, so much so. Wants to throw away the carefully cultivated life she’s made, take this fool into her bed and do all sorts of filthy things she usually saves for five-year relationships. And that’s exactly why she doesn’t.

He’s the one who pulls away this time, her hair settling down her back. Breathing heavy, they stare at each other. She watches his tongue – and yes, there is the silver stud – lick his lips.

He plays with her hairband on his wrist, pauses, “You haven’t said no.”

No, she hadn’t. But she hadn’t said yes either.

He leans in close, and she doesn’t move from her seat. His fingers caress her jaw, and she wants to kiss him again. She focuses on the feel of  the chair beneath her tailbone and counts to  four on her inhales and  eight on her exhales, trying to slow her breathing down. 

“What do you even _want?_” she asks. 

“Was that honest enough for you?” he rumbles. “No magic involved, just me and you. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for someone like you? No, I don’t go out of the way expending all this effort. But _you,_ you’re worth it and so much more.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not like you, Lantern B, not listening. Why do you think I’m not serious?”

She can’t help but touch her shoulder with her fingertips, searching for the imprint of his teeth.  “ There’s no point denying we’re s exual ly compatib le. But it’ s  _not_ what I base my relationships on.”

There’s a flash in his eyes, and she can’t tell if it’s hurt or anger. “No worries, we still have time to work on that.”

She continues gripping the spot, but says nothing. He waits a moment, cooling. “Alright, I can tell I’m not wanted here anymore. I’ll show myself out.”

Again, she waits for him to leave before she moves. He took her hairtie with him, and she doesn’t bother putting it back up.

Brushing her teeth, she debates whether or not to give him the satisfaction of jerking off, to prove to herself something. She decides not to, and it takes her a long time to fall asleep.

The next day, the gifts began.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 15 “I thought you had forgotten.”
> 
> Gift shenanigans inspired by Nalini Singh’s [Psy-Changeling series](https://nalinisingh.com/books/psychangeling-series/). Although Ilona Andrews’ [Kate Daniels series](http://www.ilona-andrews.com/kate-daniels/) has some pretty awesome ones in the background. The flowers were inspired by Davin’s [The Wooing of Hinamori Momo](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2596080/).

Sam’d been afraid of driving ever since her parents’ death in a road rage altercation, and Sam’s beserker heritage had manifested to protect them. And while she’d made great progress in driving again, the stress of the wedding is starting to make it difficult. So Joan doesn’t mind picking her up at the Association if it means Sam has one less thing to worry about.

While she waits for Sam clock out, Joan drops off her reports. To her surprise, Mags tells her Head Lantern Wadsworth will take them personally.

Joan rides the elevator up to Ellie’s office. As always, she takes in the sweeping view of the city, impressive even when grey and cloudy. When she arrives, she turns to Ellie dressed in a grey pinstripe pantsuit and white blouse.

Taking the thick folder  from Joan ,  Ellie flips through it, humming idly. “Joan, these are easy cases. A Firefly like Owen could take them. Would you  _please_ reconsider your case load? Your potential is wasted with your current wards. You could be so much more if you were willing to push your comfort zones and take on more powerful  supernaturals . You could learn so much more, you and I, together.”

And that had been a deliberate decision on Joan’s part. She didn’t need to grow her power like Ellie wanted. While Ellie has often made comments like this, they’d become increasingly common lately. Joan wonders if she’s sinking her chances of advancing up the Association with her apparent lack of ambition and declining her mentorship.

Her answer remains the same though. “I’ll think about it. It’s hard right now. I’m helping Mark with his wedding.”

“Ah yes, do pass on my congratulations to the happy couple. You do seem to have enough free time for a boyfriend though.”

“What?”

She hasn’t followed protocol with Damien. As an unregistered supernatural in their district, she should have reported his existence to make sure a Lightkeeper is ready to intervene if necessary. But there’d been a small but steady number of upper-level supernaturals appearing and then disappearing. Damien was powerful enough she’d worried he too would disappear if she turned him in, so she hadn’t done so.

“The flowers on your desk earlier this week? Sarah mentioned the delivery was quite large.” While Joan didn’t keep her office in the Association anymore, her meetings were still scheduled through Sarah. Sarah had to know everyone’s business, but she’d kept her job by not spreading gossip. Was Ellie watching her?

Wednesday, Joan’s desk had been covered in a riot of flowers: tiny pink blossoms that left petals _everywhere_, red roses with all of their thorns, a succulent, flowers that were closed tightly, and sunflowers. There was a note written in pencil staked into the succulent’s pot. _I grew up in the middle of fucking nowhere where only things like this grew._

Clearing her desk, finding somewhere to put the mess, and then find ing  a home for  the plants had been a pain. She’d called Chloe for help, who’d been thrilled.  While Joan had disparaged what an inconsistent “bouquet” it had been, Chloe had pointed out most of the flowers were dependent on light to bloom.

“What?” Joan had said.

Chloe pointed to each flower as she spoke. “Sunflowers follow the sun, morning glories only bloom in the morning, night-blooming jasmine at night. That’s a pretty interesting idea for a bouquet.”

They’d loaded the plants into her hatchback car, and before she left, Chloe insisted Joan keep the succulent.

“It’ll do you good to have something green in your home. It’s good luck.” She placed the small desert plant in the crook of Joan’s elbow. She must see the alarmed look on Joan’s face, because she added, “They’re hard to kill, Lantern Bright. Just don’t overwater them!”

Coming back to the present moment, Joan  says to Ellie,  “Uh, yes. It’s still new.”

As Joan leaves, she feels like a mouse under an owl’s still gaze. She’s relieved  to see Sam’s friendly face in the lobby waiting for. 

“Oh, thank God,” Joan says. “Let’s go.”

“And here I thought you’d forgotten about our lunch date,” Sam teases.

* * *

Both Sam and Joan can take long lunches, so they made reservations at the new Himalayan restaurant. The weather’s warm, not a cloud in the sky, so they eat on the outdoor wood patio. They decline the umbrella the waiter offers their table.

Joan sips her chai, Sam her Coke.

“So…” Sam starts. “I hear you have an admirer?”

Joan slumps into the chair, glad she wore pants that allow for that. “Ugh, did you hear about it from Mark?”

“The state of your kitchen was also a hint. I’ve never seen your fridge full of anything other than takeout. I take it the boyfriend is a cook?”

“No. He’s an incubus, so he probably makes his living off of wealthy cougars.”

Sam’s face squints. “Ah, I think that might be a stereotype…?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She throws her arm over her eyes. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Sam’s quiet for a long space of time, and Joan looks over to her. “What is it Sam?”

“He’s not unwanted is he?” she says softly. Her gaze dropping to the designs she’s drawing on the condensation of her glass.

“Sam, no, I assure you that while Damien can be...frustrating, I’m confident he’d go if I asked him to.”

“Oh, okay then. Do you like him though?”

It’s Joan’s turn to be tongue-tied. “I...”

Sam smiles then, leaning onto the diamond-patterned tablerunner. “What is it you always tell me? It’s okay to just say your thoughts. They don’t have to be perfect, or well-thought out, because they’re yours, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Start where you want to, even if it’s not the beginning.”

Joan shrugs, adjusting the way her blazer settles on her shoulders, pulls her hair to one side.

“He can be frustrating, and a grade-A jerk,” Joan says slowly. “But he’s also interesting. Why is he here, why is he so fixated on me.” She takes a sip of her chai, thinking some more. “While I told him chemistry does not make a good relationship, I am well aware the way our magic... interacts is a very,” she sighs, “very strong sign of compatibility. I know people go through their lives looking for this kind of connection, but I don’t know what it says about me that I don’t. I would’ve loved this when I was younger.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Sam replies. “You know he could just be interested in you because you’re amazing?”

“You’ve talked to Mark about me, this,” Joan muses. “He’s always telling me the same thing.”

“Well, it is true!”

The waitress brings over their double order of momos, and they dig in. Sam moans and asks if they cater. The waitress beams and says they do. Joan smiles. It looks like Sam has a caterer now for the reception and the restaurant has a large order and upcoming publicity.

Their entrées come, curry extra hot with a salad for Joan and lamb for Sam. The lamb order is huge, sizzling, and Joan wonders if they threw in an extra rack in thanks for her pending business.

“So,” Sam says, chewing around the bone, “Are we going to talk about all the gifts you’ve been getting? Because I have to admit I’m curious, and I don’t think you’ve talked to anyone about it.”

No, she hadn’t. “Everyone seems to know about the flowers, but he also sent me a box from Casa de Chocolate.”

“Wow.”

The chocolate shop was known for their Mexican flavors like mole, chipotle, and guayaba. She’d been surprised when the second layer had been filled with liquor, not something on their typical menu. The dark chocolate shell had been thick enough to give a hard crunch, and the filling neither runny nor viscous. The flavor of scotch slowly spreading across her tongue, the heat of the liquor and chile following down her throat a few moments later.

That had come with a lined notecard saying, _I like __your bite__. _

“It was delicious,” Joan admitted.

“Are you worried he’s flirting with other people too?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, no. He’s fixated on me, and even his flirtation with Mark was to get my attention. Plus he’s been writing notes.”

A sly look steals over Sam’s face. “Well, it does look like you’re having a good time.”

“What?” Please don’t let Sam say she’s glowing.

Sam stifles a giggle, and gestures to her own neck.

Joan scrambles for the compact mirror in her purse she’d thrown on the spare chair along with Sam’s bag. She opens it, and yes, there, beneath her ear is a mottled purple bruise. Muttering a cruse, she grabs her phone next, and sends herself an email to pick up concealer.

Sam grins, and then blushes. “Um, do you feel comfortable talking like this with me? It does feel a little weird.”

“I can see how it’d be uncomfortable; I feel that way myself sometimes. But Sam, we’ve haven’t been a Lantern and ward in a long time, other than on paper. We’re friends.”

Sam brightens. “Well, there is that. It’s nice to see this side of you.” She pokes at the remains of her rice heaped with sauce. “...So, speaking of awkward things. Firefly Owen asked about you, and I also have some results from my research on incubuses.”

“What did Owen say?” Joan grouses. He’d been a perfect gentleman after their breakup, despite the fact she’d dumped him after finding an engagement ring in his coat pocket. He’d given her all the space she needed, never said anything bad about her to her or about her.

Taking off her brown cable sweater, Sam fills Joan in. He’d been discrete, but some of Owen’s wards had gone missing. And so had other Lightkeepers and creatures, of increasing power no less. Joan frowns; she hadn’t heard that _Lightkeepers_ were going missing too. Owen must be doing his own independent research as well.

“He was worried you might be targeted next. He said there was a pattern, and with the escalation you were a likely target?”

“That’s sweet of Owen to worry about me, but I assure you I’m fine Sam.”

The waitress brings them complimentary gulab juman for dessert and the espresso Joan ordered. She inquires when Sam wants to schedule an appointment for the catering contract.

“Uh, lemme check with my fiancé first?” She sees the waitress’ face fall, and quickly adds, “I’m sure he’ll love the food too! He’s more of an adventurous eater than me, but I just feel better double-checking the time works for both of us.”

As they start eating the sweet balls of dough, Joan says, “So, tell me what you found out about incubuses.”

She waits for Sam to finish her mouthful and take a swallow of ice water. “Well, most of our texts are from second hand sources, but the direct sources are, um, very explicit.”

“Oh no, Sam, I’m sorry I made you sort through pornography.”

“Well, it was still informative! So, it sounds like he’s trying to establish a bond with you. The books were vague on the exact nature, but it’s beneficial to both parties. Probably something to do with having a steady food supply and wanting to make sure it’s still around? Umm, not that he’s going to murder and eat you or anything! Well, not eat you_ that_ way. Oh God, I can’t believe I just said that.  Okay, moving on...”

“It’s okay, Sam, breathe. I’m not offended.”

Sam crosses her arms and rubs her elbow. “If you both agree, you’ll be further bound by his incubus magic. I’m not sure what that means, but you could still cut the bond. It’s not a ‘til death do we part’ kinda thing, although from what I’ve seen it’s not very common when there’s as much, um, courtship as what you guys are doing.”

“We only met in person a month ago,” Joan notes dryly.

“That’s pretty leisurely-paced for an incubus.”

Joan takes a long sip of her coffee. If one month was a long time, maybe she hadn’t broken her “no filthy sex until the fifth year” rule after all if she counted it in incubus years. _Seriously? s_he thinks to herself, _you’re bargaining to justify your conduct_? _Focus_.

“So what seals the bond?”

“Consummation.”

Joan chokes.

“Ah, I take it you already did that?”

“_No_. But what does that mean? Penetrative sex with a penis?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

“Saying penis out loud is the least of sexual concerns right now.”

“The sources weren’t consistent. It does seem all parties do need to be in mutual agreement and understanding though. That was clear, at least. Whether in writing or words. Although a verbal understanding seemed more common. With the older races, sometimes there are ritual words involved, like wedding vows. I’m not surprised those would be kept out of written sources.”

Sam lets Joan stew in that knowledge, and they companionably finish their dessert.

Their small talk about the plants Chloe’s using to decorate is interrupted by a young boy leaning his bike against the patio and approaching them, helmet still on.

“Um, can we help you?” Sam says.

“I gotta delivery for a Joan?”

Oh no. Although, she does enjoy seeing the small smile spread across Sam’s face. It’s always a joy to see her solemnity give way; Mark made her happy, did that for her.

Joan fishes for a $10 bill in her purse, and exchanges it for the white box the courier’s holding. He beams at the tip.

“Thanks lady!”

She mumbles the requisite _you’re welcome_, and takes off the royal blue ribbon taped onto it. Opening it up, the inside of the lid is pink; someone didn’t bother to fold the cake box correctly. Same handwriting as before, scratchy print, this time in pen. He must’ve used gel, because the ink skips across the glossy surface. She can still read it, his pen had left clear scratches. _you’re sweeter than this ;) ;b_

Inside are a stack of sugar cookies stacked up. The one on top is shaped like a penis iced at the tip. She grudgingly pokes it aside, and underneath are more cookies, oblong, and piped with frosting to look like vulvas. At the very bottom is one that actually resembles her own, the only one with a silver dragée for its clitoris.

“Wow,” Sam says, leaning over to peak. “I’d kill Mark if he did that to me.”

Joan wonders what exactly would humiliate Damien and how she can manage going about it.

Sam urges her to try one. “Never turn away dessert if it’s any good.”

How does one choose a penis or vulva cookie to eat? She goes for the penis one on top and takes a bite. Crunchy on the outside, but soft and crumbly on the inside. It reminds her more of a butter cookie, especially with the almond flavor and its sweetness coming from the frosting. She quickly polishes it off, and licks the crumbs off her fingers, and carefully off her lipstick.

“It is good,” Joan replies in surprise. Holding out the box, she adds, “Would you like one?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 18 “You should have seen it.”

Damien pushes past the familiar feel of his own dreams, to drop down into the blackness of the waiting room.

He’d been told everyone perceived it differently, but his was a vast blackness full of floating lights as far as he could see – as far as his magic could reach – each representing a dreaming mind. They all felt different to him, fizzy, acrid, sour, and they were all his to dip in and out of for entertainment.

He’d weave in and out of the dreams until he found someone who was already wanting sex. He could change any dream into to one about sex, but it took work; building the scene, planting the want in them, blowing on it until the spark kindled, and he had to keep tending to it until it was a steady burn. And only _then_ could he feed from their desire. People already horny were way easier, all he had to do was slot himself into their fantasies, bend them to his a little, and there was his ready-made-meal.

Seven months ago, he’d felt power flickering just past his range. When he woke, he drove east, following it for miles, but when he’d arrived, it was gone. He’d roamed the waiting room, trying to figure out what the puzzling magic was and where it’d gone. While the chase might’ve been a waste, he still could have his dessert.

He felt around the dreams, looking for one that tasted like crisp pork belly – those tended to be hedonistic dreamers – but instead found himself sifting through a cluster of lights to peer at a small, but bright bobbing light. It tasted like overbaked cookies, dry, dusty crumbs that would suck the moisture and possibly his soul out his mouth. Their idea of a wet dream was probably filing paperwork, without the hint of bending over in a tight pencil skirt to give their boss a nice view of their ass. No thanks.

Even when he moved on to a dream that promised fun – kale soaked in olive oil, probably a health nut wanting to go wild – he kept thinking about that other dream.

The following night, he’d found himself drawn to the stupid dry cookie dream again. He cupped the light in his palm, felt its cold burn. His eyebrows raised in surprise. For a boring person they sure had bite. He held it up, looked at it this way and that, saw amber flicker beneath it, smelled salt and fat and acid was ready to slurp it down. (If he was honest, it smelled like his favorite tonkatsu ramen, runny egg, sour bamboo shoots, savory mushroom, and best of all, crisp pork belly that promised chewy delicious fat.)

Far be it from him to ignore a mystery, he’d dove in and found her, just like he did now.

Going into Joan’s dreams goes one of two ways, which tells him a lot about what kind of dream it’s going to be: a slow sinking, like being submerged in honey, meant he was going to be able to wind up with Joan. Which was always a fucking blast; he loved seeing that tightly-wound persona unspool all over his tongue, or fingers, or better yet his cock. Or, it was a rapid fall, the landing a punch of power that clued him in that the whole small light thing was a fucking lie, just like the unappealing cookie smell.

This descent is a rush of fucking power and magic, and he wants nothing more to wrap it around himself like a cloak and crown, rub his face in it, get drunk on it, keep it just for himself.

It’s always disorientating to be presented with a shrimpy teen after that high.

This Joan is barely a high schooler (“I _am_ a high schooler,” she said proudly, “I just haven’t had my growth spurt yet”), black hair loose and frizzy down her back. For all that Joan wants to change his clothing, she wore the same shit as a kid that he did now: an over-sized powder blue hoodie (he’d convinced her hoodies were the way to go over crew-neck sweatshirts), jeans that were too long for her, and shoes that had definitely been white at some point. At least Damien made the effort to chuck his shoes when they weren’t white anymore.

“Whassup, shortie.” He gives her a salute.

She scowls, a perfect mini-Joan. “My name is _Joan_.”

“Alright Joanie.” In this dream, he gives himself a smart leather jacket, unzipped to show his wifebeater, and skinny jeans. He snickers to himself. Who’d have thought Joan had a thing for bad boys when she was younger. She probably still does, even now; she hasn’t kicked him to the curb. He just has to work on loosening her up enough to admit it. Oh, he has so many plans for her.

But not for this Joan. That would be fucking weird and require more thought than he wanted to go into (while it was illegal for incubuses to dreamshare with minors, he did _not_ want to ask Ma Atkinson if it was technically okay to fuck the underage manifestation of a full grown woman).

They start walking together, and they enter a residential neighborhood full of model homes.

“What’s taking you so long?” she sniffs.

He dusts his sleeves off. “Your grown up self isn’t exactly an easy sell.”

He hops off the sidewalk to walk in the empty asphalt. She stays on the sidewalk even though there are never cars here.

“She’s me. I think you’re hot, so she must too. How hard can it be?”

“You severely underestimate how big the frozen stick up her ass is. Don’t worry, I’m working on thawing her out.”

“I’m well aware of how disciplined she is. She’s kept me here despite how much I want out. That’s why I asked you for help in the first place.”

Damien’s seen a lot of strange thing in dreams, but the way Joan had someone managed to piss off her own magic enough to manifest as a younger her took the cake.

Well, it was always the repressed ones who really cut loose in the bedroom anyway. He thinks fondly of the startled look on her face that had given way to loose-limbed satisfaction when he’d introduced her to assplay. He’d work his way up to easing his dick into that tight channel eventually.

“I’m right here, Damien.”

“Sorry, kid. I’m working on it.”

She rolls her eyes. “I asked for your help because if someone like you can’t get her to release her magic, then I don’t know what will. She’s locked me up so tight, I haven’t been even able to reach her dreams until recently.”

“See! I am doing my job. And you can say it you know, I am a veritable prince charming here to wake sleeping beauty up.”

“You’re idea of charming is gross.” She walks up to him, takes his hand with solemn eyes. “And we know you’re not a selfless hero.”

“Babe, I _am_ a hero.”

“A lonely one.”

That one smarts. That’s how the girl suckered him into this quest anyway. _Aren’t you tired of being lonely?_ she said, _I promise you won’t be lonely anymore if you help me. _And when she’d spooned him a taste of Joan’s magic that first time, and he knew he’d chase the ends of the earth for more, like a knight proving himself for his lady.

The scenery melts into a large backyard, wooden fence, large oak trees or something. The kind of place kids should be skipping and giggling shit in, the kind that makes him want to run away. He doesn’t like this feeling.

“I just want to do what I was meant to. I love Mark too, I know his magic as well as I know my own, but this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m meant to grow, I need to, so I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

She shakes her head. “You, of course.”

He’s unconvinced. “Right.”

She changes tactics. “Will you kiss me?” she asks. “The only time I’ve been kissed is with Jeremy and it was cold and wet.”

“Sorry Baby B, but I don’t do babies.”

He leans down, and kisses the side of her head instead.

* * *

“You should have seen it, the way she fucking looked. All buttoned up and then all fucking fire and undone. And _I did that_.”

Rose nods, holding her taro bubble tea with grass jelly. Damien can’t believe she can stomach that much sugar.

“Are you sure she wants you talking about her sex life like this? She seems like a private person from what I hear.”

“You’re family! It’s not like you’re gonna go and tell are you?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem!”

Rose sighs. “My older brother always jokes we got you too old to be house-trained.”

When Damien had been drinking, fucking, and realizing what it meant to hunger for other people’s desires, it’d been the Atkinsons who’d taken him in. He’d walked into Rose’s mom’s dream and she’d known exactly what he was, that he was “without finesse” as she’d said, and offered to take him in.

He hadn’t figured out how to get people to give him enough cash to live off of, so when he’d fallen out with his friends, shed his old name like a snake, he’d found her in her stupid little suburb house along with her husband and 2.5 children.

They were by far better people than his parents had been. They did shit like make and eat dinner together, and drove their kids to fucking soccer matches and shit. And when Rose’s dreamwalking had manifested, they didn’t cut and run. (Like Damien’s had when they realized what a freak of a son they had. They hadn’t liked realizing there was supernatural blood in the family tree that had taken hold in their son’s blood. Couldn’t stand the reminder every time they looked in his face. Good fucking riddance, he never wanted to see the look of disgust on their faces again either.)

Once he’d gotten control of his magic, he’d left to roam. They’d let him go, and they’d left their doors just as easily open for him, when he moved back into town. It’d taken him a good week to finagle the cougar and her husband to give him her apartment complex, and he’d stored his stuff at the Atkinson’s when he wasn’t working.

Which is why he doesn’t mind going to these sugary happy bubble tea shops with her, full of college students studying, and high school students flirting in a hormonal daze. He doesn’t know why the shop even bothers stocking board games in the back; no one uses them anyway.

“Speaking of training, how’s it going with your keeper? He make you pick a specialization yet?”

While Rose wasn’t a succubus like Damien, their abilities came from the same magic branch. Hers was a more flexible ability; she had choices, unlike him.

She shakes her head. “No, Owen says I can take my time, that both prophecy and dream therapy are -- ”

“Owen? Who’s that?” He shakes his black tea, no milk, no sugar, yes bubbles at her. “Do you have a boyfriend now, I thought dudes weren’t your thing, but if you changed your mind, you can always join my field of work, a by far more superior –”

“Damien, were you not listening to me earlier? Owen is my Lightkeeper.”

“Wait, you call your keeper _Owen_?”

“He says calling people by their first names help put them on equal footing.”

“Yeah, right.”

“_Any_ways, Owen seems pretty worried these days.”

“About what?”

“Don’t tell, Damien… but I peaked at his dreams…” Damien didn’t give a fuck about roaming through people’s dreams, but decent upright folk like Rose had learned from childhood it was a no-no. Whatever. His way was more fun. “...he was worried about Joan.”

“Joan?”

“His ex. He was going to propose to her, but getting over someone is hard, I guess, when you work together.”

“Oh, _really_...”

(Who’s this Owen, how long had he been dating Joan, who’d broken it off, what was he like, was he going to get in Damien’s way. Had he slept with Joan, touched her, gotten to see her happy to see him, shared keys, seen the side of her she hid so fucking well, and – No, he couldn’t have felt how redolent and thick and sweet her magic truly was, because he never would’ve given up on her if he had. What did Damien need to do, he needed to learn more, needed to know all the things Joan had liked about him and demonstrate with absolute certainty he was _better_ at all of them. He --)

Rose toys with the gold chain on her neck with her fingers. “You look good you know. You’re even dressing better!”

Damien beams, smoothing the lavender wrinkle-proof shirt. Polos aren’t really his thing, but, “Joan sent them to me. I am dressed head-to-toe in Joan-approved wear.” The pants were something between jeans and slacks and didn’t need a belt but the socks were clean and looked like they wouldn’t wear out. It was a bit too preppy rich kid for him, but if that’s what made Joan hot. (Really though, he still had _some_ pride, and had added his leather jacket and sunglasses.)

“I know,” she replies dryly. “All her packages are being sent to our house and not your apartment. Besides, I think she meant it as a passive-aggressive comment on the sorry state of your wardrobe.”

“Whatever! She’s sending me gifts! I’m sure she’ll work her way up to sending me silk boxers instead of ones with black cats on them. She already sent me a cock extender!”

Rose sighs, touching her forehead to the table in needless exasperation, her braids landing in the condensation left by their drinks. “I don’t think those were meant as a compliment either. Did you not go with my suggestions?”

“Cookies instead of cupcakes because they were easier to eat? Yeah. I even decorated the labias with royal icing.”

Rose lifts her head, takes a long sip of her boba, chewing on the tapioca. “Well, I’m glad you’re cooking more. You’re a great cook, I don’t know why you insist on living off frozen dinners.”

He shrugs. Kicking his feet against the table leg, he tips his chair back, rocking back and forth with the tapping of his heel. Once he’d left the Atkinson’s, he’d needed something to spend his days doing other than dreaming – there weren’t enough people sleeping throughout the day in the city to be truly entertaining. He flipped through the cable channels, found Food Network, laughed at the stupidity, and figured he could do better than those schmucks. (These days, he watches the Cooking Network, but he still watches Food Network to laugh at the contestants on the competitions panic at the challenges like cooking without a frying pan.)

Cooking was a good way to kill the time, but most of the time, he trashed what he made. He couldn’t eat it all, and he didn’t want to give it to anyone. It felt like the way he felt in the Atkinsons’s home watching them move together like … _something_ he wanted, something to be shared? People weren’t worth the time or effort though.

But Joan. He licks his lips, thinking what kind of meat he can feed her for dinner, then feed her his meat later (she’d been oddly reticent about blowjobs), desserts she could eat off his body, breakfasts that were quick and easy so he could slide back into bed with her more quickly and feed it to her.

“So when do we get to meet her?”

“What?”

“Just because I don’t want to take up ‘the family trade’ of sex dreams, doesn’t mean I haven’t looked into it. It was useful to figure out what I could do with my dreams. So, I know you’re trying to incubus-marry her, and if I didn’t know that, the googly-eyes you just made were pretty obvious. So I want to meet the person you... like so much.”

“Ugh.” He slurps the last of the tea up, then uses the straw to make a large hole in the plastic film. He guzzles the remaining ice.

“I’m not doing it because I’m a romantic,” he says working on the too-chewy pearls.

“So you’re doing it because you want an easy food supply?” Rose’s tea is gone, but there’re still a couple of boba at the bottom and she’s methodically sucking them up with her straw one by one.

He swallows the gelatinous mess.  “ _No_ ,” and he realizes he said that way too quickly. The kid wasn’t going to let it go now.

“Because I wouldn’t blame you if you did, everyone knows the Bright siblings are something else entirely.”

He growls, “What?”

“C’mon Damien, any supernatural member gets this _look_ on their face when they’ve gotten just the smallest taste of their magic. It makes you want to be near them, it’s warm. Like sand on the beach.”

Hot, like the way Damien always wanted to burn bright with his own magic, and in Joan had seen someone who could burn just as brightly if not brighter.  He wanted to know how incandescent they’d be together.

“And you know this how?”

“The people in the community who remember when Joan was still in training like my parents? Plus, she let out her magic recently and we noticed.”

T hat would’ve been when she was trying to get his attention. He’d been so excited she was willing to play,  he hadn’t realized everyone else had felt it too.  He doesn’t care if she does that if it’s once they’re bonded,  because e veryone would know she was hi s, their magic tangled up together .

“I want everyone to know she’s mine. That _I’m_ the one she chose to share the heart of her magic with,” he grouses, but it comes out more like a complaint.

He kicks the table too hard and almost loses his balance on the chair. Rose’s laughter rings out, and Damien realizes he’s been suckered. “I think what you mean is that you’re just as much a sucker for the Bright siblings’ magic as everyone else.”

“Well, she was a sucker for my tongue piercing.”

“She liked that thing? Yuck, on second thought I don’t want to meet her anymore.”

He slides out of the high chair and gives her a nougie. “C’mon, let’s get you home before the sugar high hits. Gimme your phone.”

“I’m not gonna call my ex anymore!” she whines.

They stop by the trash can and toss their drinks.

“Fine. How about you sugar high call Emily and ask her if she’s ready to marry into the freak show?”

“Damien! I haven’t even asked her on a date yet!” She blushes so deeply, it shows against the hue of her skin. When he’d first moved in with them, she’d wanted to call him her brother. But with the obvious difference in their appearances, he’d settled for saying he was a distant cousin instead. Thanks Cortez for making that feat of genetic imagination possible.

“Hey, so let me give you advice on the ladies...”

He knows she hates his advice, but she lets him anyway. He slings his arm over her shoulder, and they head home.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to R for helping me with date night ideas.
> 
> I wanted to give Damien [these](https://awesomestufftobuy.com/3d-wolf-boxer-briefs/) as underwear, but ultimately chose [these](https://www.milanoo.com/product/men-black-underwear-cat-print-cotton-boxer-brief-p763754.html) instead. XD

At 3pm, Joan arrives at her mid-town office. She could walk, but she also doesn’t want to give her wards the impression she lives so close by. Pulling into the small parking lot early, she hopes she doesn’t have to deal with another ostentatious gift. Last time, the flowers had been a pain to handle and clean before her ward arrived, and she does _not_ want that added stress in her life.

Flipping the lights on, she takes a look around.  There’s nothing but the familiar feel of warding and sigils. On the off chance she had a ward whose magic she couldn’t contain, the office would contain the magic so it didn’t spill out, and send a request for aid.

Opening the office is easy.  S he sets  the bouquet of tulip buds in a vase and fills it with tap water. Then she places her  purse on the couch in the waiting room and takes a seat to sort through the mail.

T he elaborate origiami dragon made of matted gold paper sticks out like a sore thumb. Stuffed into one of the folds is a piece of notebook paper.

_I have a cousin, she says girls like dinner dates. I’ll pick you up after your 4pm._

He must’ve  bothered Sarah again.  S he’ s going to have to talk to him again about that.

She checks her watch quickly and then picks up her phone. He’d entered his name with a kissing emoji after, something she didn’t know you could do.

There’s a long yawn when he picks up, “Lantern B, what a pleasant surprise!”

“Were you off pillaging the dreams of unsuspecting suburban housewives?”

“C’mon, B, you know you’re the only wifey I’m interested in.”

“...what in the world is that word?”

“I’m gonna wife you? Put a ring on it like Beyoncé told all single ladies? Don’t tell me you somehow managed to miss that song on the radio and every wedding ever!”

“And whose weddings were _you_ going to?”

“Cousin’s.”

“The same cousin you mentioned in your note?”

“Mm.”

She waits a moment. “ I thought you were...open to telling me more about yourself given the notes.”

“Ugh, fine, not Rose, but her older brother. They even put me in a suit. I might have pictures to show you if you’re a good girl.”

She rolls her eyes,  toes off her shoes, and leans back into the couch. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re still the same overl y- confident  man whose idea of romance is sending penis cookies.”

She can hear him open his fridge, rustle around it, then hear it bump shut. “Were they good though?”

“...yes.”

“And I’m also the same overly-confident man whose magic makes your toes curl and panties melt right off.”

“...your magic isn’t without its appeal.”

She can practically feel his smugness. “Well, you can swallow as much of me as you want during our date tonight.”

“Did you really just make that innuendo?”

She slips her heels back on and stands up. Smoothing her skirt, she gathers the mail and her purse. She makes for her office. Carpet makes for a more welcoming environment, but she does miss the satisfying sound of heels against hard surface.

“You’ve been uninterested in sampling my meat. Makes a guy feel like there might be something wrong, or if the lady just has an aversion to giving head. ...Wait, are you one of those women who don’t believe in blowjobs on principal, because I’ve proven I am very happy to give you head and you’ve been _very_ vocal about it. Gotta admit though, if you need some additional persuasion, I really wanna know if you’re as loud in person as you are in your dreams.”

She blushes. She’s not sure what to say to that, doesn’t want to inflate his ego anymore or sound like she’s guaranteeing this date will end with sex. Although, honestly, that’s how their encounters seem to go.

“Although our moments often take me by surprise, they can be pleasant.”

“That’s it? Well, I guess from you that’s a 5-star review. We gotta work on that dirty talk of yours, you’d think we were lying back and thinking of England. Can you even say cock?”

She  doesn’t dignify that with a response. She is  _not_ going to play the penis game with a grown man.

“Well, I’m always open to feedback. How else am I going to convince you?” he continues.

“By being yourself. Your idea of gift giving can be unique, but that’s what makes them interesting. Yes, you go for provocation, but the choices you make, the thought behind them, and the notes you give, tells me more of who you are. And learning who a person is, in all their frustrating messiness is what makes relationships so wonderful.”

T here’s a long pause again.  His voice is rough and unsure, it’s a good sound on him. “...you think I’m wonderful?” He didn’t latch onto the relationship bit. Fascinating.

“You can be, when you’re not trying so hard to be the bad boy you think you need to be. Honesty is much more appealing to me.” She takes pity on him and changes the topic. “How do you even know I don’t have plans after my 4pm?”

He recovers quickly, falling back into habit.  “That’s easy, Joan, you d on’t have much of a life outside of work and Mark. And you already had your weekly lunch with Sam,  and your yoga class is Wednesday nights, so the only thing you have tonight is a hot date with your couch and Netflix. So I’m doing you a favor by saving you from your lonely Friday night with your Hitachi.”

J esus, if she was predictable enough that he could guess the exact kind of vibrator she had, maybe she did need to live a little.

“Fine. I’ll see you after my 4pm and not a moment sooner.”

Damn. Well, good thing she keeps a pair of flats in her trunk. She might even still have a spare skirt in there from a couple years back; the fit would be a stretch but she could make it work.

She grabs the vase of tulips and brings them into her office. Chloe’ll be here any moment.

* * *

M eetings with Chloe are always a  pleasure . There was something about the young woman’s personality, magic, and approach to life that made even Joan feel like good things would happen today.

C hloe rests cheerily on the edge of her velour couch – not Joan’s fabric of choice, but it was Association standard, and the texture was friendly.  At least, Joan had been able to bring in her own chair. The standard issue ones sat too high, and her feet didn’t reach the ground, not to mention she hated armrests.

G iven  Chloe’s mahogany work boots and overalls,  she’s likely  doing  more gardening after their meeting. Vanessa, Chloe’s mother, lived in the country-side, and when it was clear Chloe would be an earth witch, there’d been plenty of land for Chloe to play in. 

“So how’s the greenhouse going?” Joan inquires. While Chloe had begun with growing food for the food bank, she’d recently turned her eye to developing a greenhouse of flowers.

“Oh, it’s going amazing! We’re starting to get visitors, and I might even start selling to some florist shops. I love seeing the look on people’s face when they see the flowers they’ve been looking at. That joy is...”

Joan can imagine, Chloe’s eyes get distant as she presumably thinks of her recent clients, and the pleasure is written on her face.

“And how do you and the plants feel?” It’d taken awhile for Joan to wrap her mind around the reality of plants having their own impressions of the world around them. Chloe’d assured her they didn’t mind being harvested and eaten; they understood their part in the cycle of the seasons and the world.

“Making other people feel good feels good!”

Glancing at the tulips, now fully in bloom, Joan says, “Is that what the plant feels?”

“No.” She lets herself fall back into the couch, and says to the ceiling. “It’s happy to help me, and to feel the joy in other people too, after.”

“Chloe, you know using your magic regularly like this, going against the flow of nature, isn’t good for you. You could burn out, and not be able to use your magic until it resets itself.”

Chloe sits back up and taps her shoes together.  “ And I know I shouldn’t make everything in the garden bloom at once! I know the plants just want to make me happy, but I know they still need to rest and grow their roots and leaves.”

When it’s clear no more words are forthcoming from Chloe, Joan asks, “Why do you think you do it, then?”

Blinking up at Joan through her eyelashes, Chloe says, “I told myself I’m practicing for Sam & Mark’s wedding, but really...” She looks down at her pink nail polish, striped with silver sparkles. “...it makes me feel less lonely. But Frank’s been helping me with that lately!”

Chloe had always worn her magic, like her heart, on her sleeve. When she’d begun talking about the stray dog that’d started living in their barn, her excitement and care had shown. She’d bought a large dog bed, treats, and toys. Despite how open Chloe was, Joan had the impression she wasn’t saying everything when it came to the dog. She suspects it has a collar, and Chloe hadn’t called the owner. 

That’s the exact sort of nonsense Damien would probably pull. If he’s going to be a presence in her life, she’s going to need to make sure he doesn’t think he can just push her around, or that he control the direction of their sexual encounters. (She’s going to have to take off her panties to prevent the outline from showing in that old skirt of hers, which would likely send him the opposite idea.)

“Wonderful, pets are good for that.” Joan hopes bonding with an animal will help Chloe better connect with other people her age. Chloe was a giving and kind-hearted girl who deserved a network of friends who’d love her. While Joan’d been happy Chloe and Caleb, another of her wards until he’d left for college, had connected in her waiting room, Chloe needed to learn to make friends on her own.

Chloe frowns, a look usually reserved for people who littered, hurt animals, and people who didn’t care about other’s feelings. “He’s not a pet, he’s his own person.”

Joan curses herself for that slip. Between Chloe’s paganism, being a witch, and her racial background, she was unlikely to view her relationship with animals as one of owner and owned.

“I’m sorry Chloe, I should’ve known better.  I’m glad you and Frank have each other. It seems to be one of mutual gain, like so many canine-human relationships.”

“I know you don’t agree with all my beliefs, but you’ve always been very good at respecting them. Is everything alright with you?” The feel of Chloe’s magic hovers softly, like dandelion puffs in the breeze, wanting to reach out to Joan. Joan wouldn’t be surprised if Chloe eventually took up herbology to help her neighbors.

“That’s sweet of you Chloe to ask, but I assure you I’m doing well. I can give you some magic to balance out what you’ve done by working out of season with nature, but please don’t make this a regular occurrence.”

Joan holds out her hands.  S he doesn’t need  to , but the act is a clear visual cue. Joan wouldn’t just extend her magic to Chloe, that was set aside for close relationships, which their bond as ward and  L ightkeeper  made impossible . 

F eeling for the well of magic at the pit of her stomach, she  gathers up some of what she took from the water dragon. That ward had had too much magic, and had trouble controlling the rains they’d summoned. It was easier for them when Joan took some of the excess magic off; dragons tended to come into their magic before their bodies were ready to hold all of it anyway. 

Chloe’s fingertips touch Joan’s palms, her permission for Joan to give her magic. Joan imagines it flowing from her stomach, through her palms, and into Chloe’s arms, where it twists up her slowly.

“Oh, wow, _you’re_ doing well. Your magic feels so much warmer.”

Joan looks at her in surprise, almost drops her hands. Her relationship with Chloe had been difficult in the beginning. When Vanessa had asked Joan to guide Chloe as her Lightkeeper, Joan had been excited to form intergenerational ties. But it’d taken them a couple of sessions to get a feel for one another’s magic. Chloe’s was exuberant and outgoing, and she found Joan’s control cold at times.

“I’m sorry?”

“It feels fuller? Like it was under-fed and now it’s happy and full.”

“I didn’t realize you could have such a strong feel for my magic,” she remarks dryly.

Chloe places a fingertip on her lips, not minding the gloss there, thinking. Joan keeps the magic flowing to Chloe, keeping a feel for Chloe’s magic and waiting for her reserves to be at a more sustainable level.

“Yes. You just feel different, more… natural? Like when I have a plant that hasn’t grown but is finally growing new shoots. Or like a tomato plant.” Joan makes a choking noise. Chloe looks up, continues, “You know, a flower a bee has to buzz at in order for it to open up.”

Blinking at her a few times, Joan realizes she’s given Chloe enough magic. She pulls her hands back into her lap.

They end their meeting with Joan reminding Chloe not to push herself so much, and Chloe agreeing. Joan takes a couple moments to herself; that hadn’t gone as she’d expected it. The sound of Chloe’s Subaru pulling away pulls Joan from her reverie, and she checks her watch.

If she hurries, she’ll have time to not only change her skirt but her silk blouse too. She doesn’t want Damien putting runs in it.

* * *

The old skirt turns out to be jersey, unlined, and is more forgiving of her weight gain than she thought it’d be. It still takes some shimmying though. Joan removes her blouse, looks down, and decides her camisole, with its lace-trimmed v-neck will do. While she doesn’t like that the thin straps show her bra straps, they at least match the cream camisole. She’s shrugging back on her blazer, with its sleeves rolled up, when Damien waltzes into her office, the door slamming behind him.

“Lantern B,” he sings. “All ready for a night out?”

She steps out of her office, pulling her hair out of her collar. She reaches into her pocket – investing in quality clothing came with the much-needed bonus of serviceable pockets – and pulls her hair in a high ponytail. She prefers to bend over, letting gravity pour her hair into a smoother shape, but she doesn’t want to give Damien ideas this early. It can be messy; it’s not like he cares either way.

She briskly walks to the door, Damien complains about what a hurry she’s in, and she waits for him to exit before locking the door. As he leaves, she watches his ass; the jeans she bought for him really did flatter him nicely. The black shirt was hers as well, since it was blessedly wrinkle-free. She’d have to thank Sam for finding his address. He’d kept his own jacket though.

“So who was that adorable black girl leaving your office?” he asks as soon she she slips her keys into her purse.

Joan narrows her eyes. “You had better not be thinking of trying _anything_ with my wards.”

He holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, calm down Mama B. She approached _me_, asked me if I knew you. She seemed awfully curious.”

“Chloe, unlike you, understands what personal boundaries are.”

He shrugs, using the motion to place his hand on her lower back, just about on the rise of her ass. Joan twitches.

“Can’t a man be curious about what his girlfriend does at her job?”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“I could be _your_ boyfriend.”

She settles at that. “I’m monogamous.”

“Babe, that is _not_ a problem. I’m all yours.” He grins and downright _skips _down the rest of the steps to the parking lot. Joan practically tumbles down the stairs, since he doesn’t bother removing his hand from her. When she clears the last few steps, she can’t stop her momentum, even in her flats. He turns, and she finds herself pressed against his chest. His arms settle around her waist, squeezing her so her breasts and hands press firmly against him. Fortunately, there’s no erection nudging her.

This close, she can feel his laughter vibrate through her body and it feels nice. Nuzzling his cheek against her hair, which is certainly going to mess up her ponytail, he coos, “Aw, did my best girl have a hard day at work and need a hug?” His palms start sliding down her ass and cupping her.

She steps on his foot, and he lets her go, still laughing.

They leave her car at her office and take Damien’s Camaro. It’s an older model, the paint a bit faded, but the inside isn’t a total trash heap. She spots crumpled receipts and soda cans, but the upholstery is unstained.

He’s a fast driver, muttering comments at all the other drivers and inconvenient pedestrians. Joan grips the door tightly, and presses down with her heels, hoping she can will the brakes on. Damien winds around cars, entire lanes, and bicyclists, pulling up next to an expired meter in a part of town Joan doesn’t walk alone in.

She carefully looks around and hooks her thumb around her purse strap.

“Aw, c’mon, Lantern B,” Damien cajoles, as he places his hand on her hip. “Like I’d take you anywhere more dangerous than that snake pit Association of yours. Our stop is right here!”

A sharp reply about the Association sits ready on her tongue, but she’s taken by the building in front of them. The brick facade was riddled with scorch and claw marks, the windows boarded up, and yet… It was also heavily warded; if she had a gift for seeing sigils, she thinks the whole wall would be lit up with lines and lines of scrolling text. She can feel the way thick and thorny magic has been sunk deep into the building and the earth.

“What is this place?”

Damien steps in front of her vision. “Come find out.”

He takes her hand, and opens the door with the other. They step through, and _ah_, she thinks_, a see-me-not_ _spell_.

The building isn’t in disrepair at all. Warm lighting, a bright skylight, and bookshelves as far as she could see. There were floors both above and below the entrance balcony they were on. The place was old, full of brass and marble, and Joan wonders if there’s a map so she can plan the days it would take her to comb through this place.

The guard at the front desk looks at Joan, then raises an eyebrow at Damien. Damien grins and the guard returns to checking his tablet.

“This place isn’t meant for Lightkeepers,” she whispers. “What are you doing?” She’d known places like this existed, had heard them whispered about. Spaces where the supernatural community congregated outside the careful and exacting overview of the Association. She’d imagined a small meeting space, _not_ an old world library. Not to mention, she’d never thought she’d ever step foot in one of the zealously guarded sanctuaries.

“Relax,” he says in his outdoor voice. “You’re with me. Besides, you won’t find this place without me anyway.”

Joan makes a mental-note to mention to this Sam. She’d love this, and as a beserker, she might not be kept away by the see-me-not illusion.

“What do you wanna look at first?”

“_Everything_.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Attagirl. Let’s start with your section, then.”

Damien takes her hand and maneuvers them through the innumerable aisles and turns with ease. How much time had he spent here to know the layout so well? Joan tries to keep track of the turns, but loses track quickly. They pass other people browsing the shelves, and reading at desks, but no one looks at them.

He leads them to a U-shaped alcove, hidden away from the setting sun, and lit instead with sprite-lights.

“Here we are.” He spreads his arms out widely.

Joan looks to the shelf on her right. Many of the spines are in obscure languages, but she does recognize some of the French one. She pulls its gold-embossed spine and carefully flips through the first few pages. It smells old, but the pages are still white, and ink as black as if it’d been printed yesterday.

“This is...” she murmurs.

“The section on Be acons.”

She steps close enough to smell leather, parchment, and age. Running her fingers across the titles, she thinks how many texts are here that are missing from the Association library catalog. Why would the Association, that prided themselves on having the most comprehensive collection available, be missing so many of these?

Selecting one of the titles, she flips to a page. _...the twinning effect for Beacons in pre-contact America was well-documented, although it went by other names. This humble scholar suggests that the influx of European Lightkeepers may have misunderstood this phenomena, or possibly driven it underground. They had a radically different approach to stewardship of the creatures of the earth, __their __approach to __curse-breaking alone__…_

Without looking up, Joan makes her way over to the small walnut desk, pulling the chair out with her shoe. The current museum exhibit on Beacons didn’t mention _anything _like this at all.

Damien sits as well, despite the chair being too small for the both of them. His hip pushes firmly against her, leaving half of her butt hanging off the side. She frowns at him.

“Can’t you read _and _pay attention to me?” he pouts.

She rolls her eyes and pats his head, his hair silky. There’s a slight curl to the ends today; perhaps from the morning fog? Did he _straighten_ his hair usually? Did he even know how to use a flat-iron?

“Be a good boy, and I’ll let you sit in my lap.”

His head snaps to her, and _goodness _the look in his face, both sharp and eager. He braces one hand on the back of the chair, and reaches out to her with the other. She pulls back instinctively, but she falls instead, the chair toppling with a soft thud against the shag carpet.

Pulling herself onto her knees, she hears Damien extricating himself from the chair behind her as well. She knocked the book off the table, and it’s lying face down, probably with its pages bent. She leans over, reaching for it, letting her weight fall into her palm.

Damien’s hot hand captures her thigh, and he pulls himself forward.

“You’re a bad little girl, aren’t you?” he growls. His body is hot against her as he loops her ponytail around his other hand. He pulls hard, and Joan lets out a gasp, forcing her to arch her back, and pressing her ass into his hips, where his erection throbs. “You wore that skirt on purpose didn’t you? Jesus, I can tell you’re not wearing anything underneath them.”

He grinds against her backside, but Joan wants him rubbing against other parts of her that are already growing damp.

“I’m not surprised you’re hot for teacher, or a librarian.”

“Your fucking _mouth_.” He slaps her ass once, and Joan hopes no one will pass them and see what’s happening. 

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Then stop being so easy to make fun of.”

He  yanks her skirt down to her knees.  T he air against her body is startling,  sending a shiver up her bones . Taking in the luscious view of her ass on all fours, he says, “Who’s the bitch, now, huh?”

He sucks on his fingers, releasing them with a loud pop.  He doesn’t even try teasing her, just goes straight for her cunt, and presses two finger inside. Joan whimpers as the sudden fullness,  and he groans .  She tries to open her legs further, but the skirt hobbles her. Instead, she arches her back further. He rewards her with another finger. 

She wants to tell him to hurry up and fuck her already, but she doesn’t want to be bound to him. And she needs to find a way to get out of this before anyone comes by. Her body, however, clenches tighter around him at the possibility of being caught, rocketing her so close to climax.

He mouths at her lower back, sloppily wet, but the way he he’s sucking the flesh between her teeth is going to leave bruises. “C’mon baby, c’mon, I know you can do it.”

She doesn’t realize what he’s talking about until she feels the fullness in her bladder, and oh no, she is _not _going to come all over these carpets. She would never be able to come here again without dying of embarrassment or paying a hefty replacement fee. But fuck, what he was doing with his hands, and her body was so eager and ready to come for him – 

Her stomach emits a loud growl.

Damien pauses for a moment, and then shuffles away from her. Even though she knows it’s for the best, her pussy still pulses at his absence, and it’s cold without his body heat. She takes a couple of deep breathes as he stands and steps around to her front.

He offers her his hand, still wet from her.

“C’mon, let’s get you fed.”

* * *

As Damien leads her out of the labyrinth of books, thoughts begin rushing back. How no one managed to catch them she doesn’t know. And the idiot has the gall to lick his fingers clean.

She thinks of all the things he must’ve touched before fingering her and shudders. “You didn’t even wash your hands did you?” she accuses. She registers his hand on her ass, and between the come down of their tryst and her hunger, she doesn’t have the energy to fight him. Instead, she slips her own into the back pocket of his jeans and squeezes. 

He looks down at her in amusement, laughing loudly again.

She shushes him.

Bumping his thigh against her hip, he reaches into his pocket and flashes her his library card. There’s faint magic on it. “This place is filled with silencing and see-me-not sigils that your card lets you use. You didn’t think I was gonna let all these people see you, did you? I don’t like sharing, but I wouldn’t mind if it was your – ”

“Are you telling me you brought me to a _makeout spot_?” 

He snickers,  putting the card back in his pocket . “Hey, books are hot.”

“I can’t believe we just made out in the library like teenagers,” she mutters. “Did you even wash your hands?”

He leaves her side to open the door for her, and the night air hits her. She shivers  as she waits for him to unlock his car. Thank God he parked in front, she wouldn’t have enjoyed walking with so few layers. Although Damien did seem to run pleasantly hot.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m naturally resistant to STDs, and my saliva and cum are scientifically proven to kill off infections in my partners. If that’s not God’s seal of approval to my trade, I don’t know what is.” He unlocks her door first, and the leather upholstery is cold against her thighs.

Once he has the engine going, and the heating dialed up but blowing cool air, Damien takes off his sweatshirt and tosses it to her. It’s big and already warm from his body heat. She tugs on it, and tucks her hands into the sleeves.

He looks at her before pulling out of the parking spot, and while there’s still hunger in it, it’s not like he’s imagining her sprawled naked. No, it’s  soft , like he wants to remember this moment for later.  When he realizes he’s been caught, he flushes.

She doesn’t mind. Sex is fun, but this is as equally wonderful.

* * *

The apartment complex he parks is just on the other side of the neighborhood. Recently renovated storefronts and housing stand in stark contrast to the worn and forgotten about family businesses a couple of streets over. She remembers when the urban renovation had started, and knows this place had to be expensive.

She shoots him a questioning glance.

“I live here.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Your kitchen is a sad excuse and I don’t even know if you own a baking sheet.”

She doesn’t. “And you’re saying you have a 5-star kitchen?”

“Just about.” He puffs up at that.

Even though she’s warm with his sweatshirt, he still clings to her under the pretense of keeping her warm. The way he holds her makes her feel like a bundled up package. He doesn’t give her any space, even as they ride the empty elevator up. She wriggles, trying to get out, but he just holds her more firmly than she thought he could.

How far up are they going? The elevator ride and its inane music wouldn’t stop, so she makes the best of the situation. Earlier, she’d felt something in his back pocket, she puts her palm back there under the guise of groping him again – he really was into her touching him.

Good lord, he took an apartment on the top floor, and it probably has pretentious but breath-taking windows overlooking the city. There’s not even a number on the door.

He mumbles about his keys. After letting him search his pockets and patting himself down, she jangles them from her fingertips.

“Oh _you_,” he says full of glee. He snatches them and opens the door, flipping on the lights.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he proclaims, holding the door open for her.

Stepping inside, she  takes her shoes off .  The lighting is bright, and beyond a small drawer for dumping keys and receipts on, she realizes he wasn’t joking about the kitchen. Sleek metal gas stove, still spattered with grease, an overhead fan, two ovens,  an actual grey marble counter top and matching island,  and a smart fridge whose touch screen was curiously black. He even had his pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling.

“I wanted the bigger kitchen, and only the flats had that.”

It takes her a moment to find her words. “You cook?”

“Yeah, I made those cookies. And I made you dinner. Take a seat.” He pushes her towards a small plastic table with four wood-backed chairs. The cushions are a bright teal and magenta.

“What thrift store did you buy these at?” she grouses, taking a seat so she can see both the kitchen and the living room.

He pulls down a large pot and a medium-sized one, then sets them on the stove with a loud clang. “Free section of Craigslist.”

She hopes he cleaned all of it thoroughly.

As he begins taking things out of the fridge, she turns her attention to the living room. It looks oddly impersonal. A tan couch, a halogen lamp, a TV that’s dusty. Did he even spend time here? Maybe in another room; there’re T-shirts and sweatshirts tossed over the couch, like he was on his way somewhere else.

She pads over the cold wood floor to peak at the windows. The blinds are closed, but when she opens them, there are just normal-sized windows, not floor-to-ceiling but the view of the lights at night still reminds her of stars.

He’s sizzling something, and it smells good. She’s never been one to watch cooking shows, but watching him cook, she can see why people do. There’s something soothing and fascinating in watching his hands work and the little dishes of already diced vegetables turning into something different.

Wondering what else he cooks, she checks his fridge.

“If you cook, why is your fridge so empty?” she asks suspiciously. She opens the freezer next, which has ice packs, frozen food, some Ziplock bags, and fruit popsicles.

He shrugs. “Haven’t had much reason to. Pass me the pasta.”

Odd, for someone who got this place for its larger kitchen. She makes a note to ask about that later.

Joan wasn’t looking forward to waiting to eat, but the meal comes together quickly. He must’ve prepped it ahead of time.

Since he’s cooking, she sets the table, with Damien waving where the plates and utensils are. The plates are Correlle, and the silverware probably from Ikea. But Joan recognizes the names on the cookware, Le Creuset, from Sam and Mark’s registry as expensive.

When they sit down – Damien falling into his chair with his legs sprawled, and Joan sitting like a normal person – she’s surprised at how much food there is. A large bowl of spaghetti with bolognaise, fancy cheese, and a crusty loaf of bread he’d dusted with garlic and butter. Damien _said_ the bread was homemade, but at Joan’s flat stare, had admitted was store-bought because his yeast had expired.

After polishing off her plate, she moans, “I’m going to have a carb coma.”

“Carb loading,” he smirks wolfishly, bumping her foot with his.

“No,” she says. “I am _not_ having a sex marathon with you.” She nudges his foot aside, but he hooks his ankle around hers and drags it up her calf.

“Marathon training then.”

She kicks him in the shin.

“Dessert then?”

She has another retort ready for that, but he really does mean more food. He toys with an espresso maker, and retrieves a quart of ice cream from the freezer. Kicking it shut, he also gets a canister of whipped cream.

He presents her the affogato in a coffee cup, with a spoon in it saucer.

“The whipped cream is unconventional,” she notes, picking up the spoon.

“But so delicious.”

Wrapping her mouth around a spoonful, it’s the perfect blend of temperatures, creamy, bitter, and sweet. A small sound escapes her, as she licks the spoon clean. “It is. Dinner as a whole was delicious. Thank you.”

He looks like she just gave him a Christmas miracle. Maybe she could convince him to just cook for her instead of seducing her.

She doesn’t really want to have this conversation, but she will not let Damien lead her merrily on this chase without setting some rules in place.

Pointing her spoon at him, she says, “I know enough at this point to know we’ll likely wind up having sex.”

Damien’s knee starts bouncing under the table. She puts her foot over his to stop it.

She continues, “But I don’t want to consummate this by your culture’s rules. I don’t understand what it entails, and I do not make agreements without knowing what exactly I’m agreeing to.”

“Someone did their research. Incubus mating is just a partnership agreement between people. It’s only called mating because humans are obsessed with wereanimals and their lifelong commitments. I’ll even give you a book so you and your library friend can check.”

“And the fact you get a ready supply of food is a pleasant after thought?

His smile is all boyish charm, “Well, that is a nice bonus. But it’s beneficial to the both of us. You’d get to take as much of my magic as you want. No more only skimming from your wards and giving it to other people. You wouldn’t have to hold back with me. You could take from me until you’re buzzed on my magic all the time.”

She thinks of how hungry she always is, the fact she’s in her 30s and still has growing pains. It’d be nice to have both of those stop, but that’s not an indulgence she has.

“How do I know I can trust the information you give me?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me. That’s how relationships work, isn’t it?” Stretching his arms out, he announces, “Man, all this talk of sex sure has me wound up.”

“Seriously?”

He winks. “I’m always ready for you, Joan. But I promise, no consummation tonight, I swear by our magic. The partner being pursued is who decides when to consummate anyway. All I can do is try and persuade you it’s a deal worth making.”

“How do you know when I’ve come to a decision?”

He gets up, dumps their dishes in the sink, not even running water over them. She cringes at the thought of the kind of scrubbing it’s gonna take to clean them later. “Dunno. It varies with each pairing. You tell me how you decide to commit to something.”

That’s infuriatingly vague.

“No penis-in-vagina sex tonight,” she states.

“Geez, this is the least-romantic come-on ever.” He begins quickly packing up their leftovers.

“I have an IUD, and my last test results for STDs came back negative.” She’d wanted the implant, but the Association advised against it, in the rare instance a hostile supernatural decided to cut it out of her.

“Do you not remember me saying my cock is a cure-all for STDs?”

“It’s still good practice to have these discussions.”

“Fine, yes, I got tested two months ago, and I’m clean. I don’t wanna knock you up either. So bareback cool?”

“I said not in my vagina.”

“Girl, you got holes other than your vag.”

“I’m aware.”

“...seriously?”

Seeing him off-balance, and not cocky is a good look on him. As fun as it is to argue with him, it’s just as fun to surprise him.

“I just wanted to reiterate what I said.”

“…so I can try that thing…?” He makes a motion with his hands like he’s putting her on his face and fingering her. She remembers that dream vividly. It’d been before she realized she had a late-night visitor, and it had left her wondering why she was dreaming of having her ass played with that way.

“Just not on your couch, please. That might work in dreams where you can make the cushions wider, but I don’t want my legs to cramp. And judging by your TV, you’ve probably never cleaned that room.”

“I spend most of my time in my bedroom; I have a TV there.”

Goodness, what a waste of all this space in his apartment.

She stands up, ready to see the rest of his home, but a mischievous look crosses his face. Swooping towards her, he hauls her over his shoulder, and starts walking.

She can’t see much other than the wood floors without craning her neck at an awkward angle. She tries to hit his face with her foot, but he slaps her ass instead. Much to her embarrassment, her squawk sounds close to a moan.

He tosses her onto something, and she enjoys the moment of air as she bounces before her body settles into the mattress. Pushing up on her elbows, she takes a look around. Surprisingly, it looks normal, nothing like the pretentious one he creates in their dreams. There’s a TV directly across from the bed on top of drawers, and she sees both a closet, and a door cracked to what must be the bathroom. The night stand holds crumpled wrappers, a lamp, and books. She’ll check the titles later. The bed’s only a queen, the comforter an unassuming navy blue. Hidden under the matching pillows, she sees a familiar pink cat logo. The Hello Kitty pillow sham must’ve been a gift from the cousin he mentioned.

Turning her attention to Damien, he’s already shrugged off his shirt and is stepping out of his pants. Sweet lord, he’s actually wearing the black boxer briefs she’d bought him with white cat faces with varying expressions. So much for embarrassing him with the clothes.

He kicks the jeans to the side and then climbs over her. The view is nice, she has to admit, running her hands down his chest. He’d purr if he could. She tweaks one of his nipples.

“You don’t shave?”

He shakes his head. “Why bother? I can have whatever kind of body hair I want in dreams.”

“Good, I like it that way.” Joan pulls him down for a kiss, then presses her heel into his butt so his body falls on hers. She’s missed this, being pressed into the bed by someone, with nowhere to go but this body.

The angle’s a bit off, his cock pressing into her belly instead of against her clit. She squirms, seeking the friction, but he breaks the kiss. Using it as an opportunity, she wriggles up the bed, and when she rocks her hips, she sighs in relief. He puts his face between her breasts, the camisole allowing him to lick between them.

Running his finger between the camisole and bra straps, he notes, “The bra matches the blouse, nice.” Then pulls both layers down so he can lave her nipples. The piercing against them makes her toes curl. She grabs a fistful of his hair and keeps him there.

The friction against her clit only makes her crave him even more. She wants the clothes gone, his dick rubbing against her wetness so she could slip him inside easily. And oh, what would he feel like? It’d been years since she’d considered having sex with condoms; even with Owen, he’d always used them. She imagines the intimacy of sex without them, the extra slickness from Damien’s precum, the way every pulse and twitch would feel more intense, being able to –

Their hips continue rolling against one another, and her orgasm is just there, when he pushes off of her.

“No,” she moans.

“Uh uh, you don’t get to come yet. Do you have matching panties for next time? Fuck, never mind, I like you like this better.” He grabs the waistband of her skirt, and she lifts her hips to help pull it off. She grabs a pillow from nearby, and shimmies it under her.

He crawls down her body, skipping her dripping pussy, to suck the inside of her thighs. He makes his way too slowly back up towards. She squeezes her thighs around his head, and he gets the hint.

The first touch of his tongue against her opening makes her hips roll. His strokes are frustratingly light, though, but his nose nudges against her clit.

“Give me more, damn it,” she cries as she rocks against his face.

Lifting his head, he asks if she can take her shirt off. She takes both it, and her bra off, knowing he wants a full view of her breasts. He awards a quick kiss to the underside of one, his chin wet, then goes back to eating her out. Finally, he gives the long strokes she wants from the bottom of her cunt to swirling his tongue around her clit. Grants her teasing nibbles, and then easily slips one finger into her.

When he introduces a second finger, it doesn’t take much to work her back up the fever she was in at the library. She can feel that familiar fullness building, but he won’t give her clit enough pressure to come.

He raises his head again, stares at her breasts for a moment, then looks at her face. “You ready to come?”

“What do you think?” she pants.

He flips her over so she’s face down on the bed, then pulls her hips up. He eats her pussy from this angle, and then begins licking up and then eating her ass as well.

Rubbing against her center, he coats his fingers in her wetness.

“Here we go,” he says, pressing a finger against her asshole.

It’s not as easy as it was in the dreams. He has to hastily grab lube from the nightstand, and Joan has to consciously relax herself. She tries relaxing her throat, but that doesn’t help. When she clenches and then relaxes, he presses a finger inside.

It doesn’t feel like much, strange, but she goes with it. If nothing else, his other hand kneading her ass feels good. The pressure from the second finger is pleasant, and the way he scissors his fingers interesting, but isn’t helping her come. She can still feel the hot pulse of arousal in her cunt, and she want s it back, stoked high and hot.

Right as she’s about to order him to go back to her pussy, he adds another finger. The feeling is different; he hadn’t found this spot in her dreams. She pushes back against him, wanting more of it, to see where it leads. And this isn’t how she orgasms, but something in her is rising as he presses against whatever spot he’s found.

She comes with a surprised cry, pressing her face into the cover, as her body releases and she goes flying.

“Fuck, your hot when you come, shaking all over me like this,” he mutters. Her muscles still spasming from the small waves of aftershock, she slides out of all fours and onto the bed entirely. He grabs her hip with one hand, and follows her down. She hears the lid of the lube click shut again, and he slides his slick cock between her ass. All she can do is press back against him, as he thrusts between her cheeks but not penetrating her.

The line of his body curves over his, she can feel his sweat against her back, and he starts sucking against her spine. More bruises for later.

He groans, “So wet,” and then with a strangled whine of _oh fuck_, he paints her lower back with come. 

Joan’s brain is fuzzy, and she’s in no hurry to dispel it.  He eases off of her, and he start rubbing his come over her back.  She wants to tell him that’s gross, but the pressure of his palms feels too good to protest.

Between the carbs and the orgasm high, she feeling the weight of sleep tugging her under. Damien crawls over her, and pushes back her hair to peak at her face.

“You’re falling asleep?” He starts yanking the blanket out from under hair.

She tries to say, _“_Leave me alone,” but all that comes out is a jumble of noise. 

He chuckles, “You’re gonna regret that when you wake up in a cold wet spot.” With a firm yank, he frees the ruined blanket, and then gets up. She hears the sink run. He comes back, and picking up one of the blankets on the floor, he throws it over her. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

He plops into bed next to her, the mattress moving with his weight. She puts her arm over his chest, planning on punching him, but instead, falls asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning in bed with Sam and Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 19 “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

Sam sets her book on how Beacons had built the Egyptian pyramids (conspiracy theories were a guilty pleasure of hers) down and looks at Mark standing on the other side of her bed, struggling to find a pair of matching socks under her bed. (She wishes she were the kind of woman who, with one look, could convince her fiance to come back to bed.)

“Have you met Joan’s boyfriend?” he asks.

He gives up leaning over the bed, and decides to stand, tripping over his feet. Sam misses the view of him in his boxers against her navy blue comforter, but watching him (a beautiful, nearly naked man in her bedroom, who’d have thought she’d have one!) is a pleasure all its own. “Oh, hey, there’s the shirt I’ve been looking for.” He slings it over his shoulder and continues his quest for socks.

This is why she keeps an extra pack of socks in her closet; the washing machine would always leave you with mismatched socks. She should ask him if he wants to leave some here. When he’d first left a change of clothes and toiletries, she’d felt lighter than she had in years. Mark was good at that, he made her want to believe she could be happy.

And while it’d been embarrassingly easy to set aside shelf and drawer space for him, she still imagines him moving all of his stuff into her apartment. (She wanted to ask him to stay forever six months into dating, but that had scared the daylights out of her. She still wants to ask him to move in now, forget waiting another six months until they’re married. But she doesn’t want to look overeager.)

“_Is_ he her boyfriend?” she replies in kind. From what she’s seen of Joan, she viewed the incubus with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. But she’s also aware Joan knows how to handle assholes; she was a known go-to in the Association anytime someone needed help handling one. So it had to mean something that she hadn’t kicked the sex demon out of her life.

“Boytoy maybe? I’m not sure. We were supposed to meet at her place to go out for breakfast at 7am, but she called me saying she’d be late. I don’t think she realized she was video chatting me; I think she thought I was on speakerphone. And she was clearly wearing last night’s clothes, so I’d say it’s going well.”

“Uh, I don’t know if I want to picture my Lightkeeper, um...”

Mark stops his search and looks at Sam. “Oh, believe me, I know the feeling. My sister is _dating_ an incubus, I don’t even want to _imagine _what that’s like.”

Sam can’t help the smile that finds her lips. “But it’s like pink elephants right?”

Mark chuckles. “Yup.”

“Well, I did some research on him. He isn’t the easiest person to track down, but I managed. Did you know his birth name is Robert_? _He doesn’t really look like one. It looks like he was on the West Coast until he was 17, then disappeared, then reappeared here of all places. The Atkinsons listed him as a dependent on their taxes.”

“Taxes?” Mark asks.

“Yes! It’s kinda alarming what you can find in the public record. So, there’ve been incubuses in Vanessa’s family, so presumably her family mentored Damien. Ugh, can you imagine how terrible it would’ve been if he kept running around without being trained?” She wrinkles her nose.

Learning to work with their abilities, not hide from them or abuse them, was something Joan was always telling her.  A lthough  Sam hates  the exercises Joan has her do,  she knows it’s the right thing to do. Reducing stress at home was fine, but reducing stress from outside life by never going out wasn’t good  either . So Joan had had her  practice  controlling her responses to stress so she didn’t start slugging her way out of situations. And look what happened when she did go out and didn’t hit people who scared her! She’d met Mark. Beautiful, handsome, talented Mark.

“And how do you know about the Atkinson lineage? I’m pretty sure Owen didn’t talk to you about it, and genealogy data like that is supposed to be confidential.”

“I might’ve… er… looked at the Association’s database.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! Like this is the worst I’ve done!”

Even with mock-disapproval on his face, she still wants to kiss every inch of it.

“I dunno Sam, hacking into the Association’s secure databases sounds pretty bad. Bad-ass,” he teases.

“No, that goes to the decidedly _illegal_ book sales I’ve gone to to find more books on Beacons.” 

W hen Mark had told her they needed to talk, Sam had been so convinced he was going to dump her, she didn’t even comprehend what he’d told her. Once the knowledge her boyfriend was a Beacon had settled in, she started doing research. Neither he nor Joan had much data; it wasn’t like they could research it as Lightkeepers without drawing too much attention. It was perfect, really, Sam could look in places neither of them could.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there’s a black market for books,” he muses.

“It wasn’t dangerous this time! I sat in the comfort of my home and had an online bidding war with someone named Annabelle for this book.”

For the price, it even came with 2-Day, insured shipping. It should arrive by end of day tomorrow.

“I love having a smart girlfriend.” He slides back into bed, the covers still warm from her body heat. Sliding his cold feet between hers, he takes her in his arms. The bear hug feels like it could crack her ribs, but Sam doesn’t want it to end. She wants to stay here, with him, his cheek pressing into her hair as she snuggles into his chest.

“Joanie did her best to research things, but you’ve been able to find things she hadn’t!”

Sam tries to reply, but it isn’t audible so close to his chest. She manages to lift her head, so she’s talking into his chin instead. “It’s because I’m not really a part of the Association. I’m a third-party allowed to be there because I’m a ‘non-threatening’ monster. At least I have you, the region’s first Beacon in years in my life.”

His brown eyes are warm, concerned for her. “Hey, hey, you know I don’t view you, or _anyone_ like that. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

She  wants to go back to hiding against his chest, but she can try to be brave . “I… know my coming into my fighting abilities had nothing to do with my parents’ death,” she recites. But then feeling the words in her mouth, and saying them before she thinks better of it and doubts herself, “But it’s hard when the  Association keeps notes on you like that. Like you’re an animal they’re waiting to go rabid.” She shivers.

Slipping his hand under her night shirt, he strokes her back. She curls closer to him. “One day, we’ll change all that. No more notes, no more mandatory reporting, no more hiding and being afraid.”

They lay there, letting the minutes go by. His skin is warm, although his feet are still cold. Who’d have thought that her bed, where Sam had spent so much of her time too scared to leave her apartment, or too depressed after their deaths’, that this is where Mark would help her erase all of that and make better memories?

“Do you think one day she’ll let me call her Joanie too?” she asks softly. When her parents had passed, she’d been alone a long time. One of the things she’d realized in her discussions with Joan had been that it’d been partly by choice. And as she ventured back into the world, she slowly became less lonely. It was worth the chance at losing people again, because knowing people like Mark and Joan were worth it.

Marriage was historically a way to solidify ties between different families. Sam has none left, nothing to offer but herself (and well, her wealth too, but she knows Mark couldn’t care less about that), but marrying Mark means having a family again. Mark doubts his parents will come to the wedding, and tells her he never expects her to ever call them Mom and Dad, but Joan as her sister? That would be nice.

Mark looks at her in surprise. “Of course. She’s just weirded out by being your Lightkeeper. She’s not as vocal as I am, but she’s not super into the Lightkeeper and ward system either.”

“Head Lantern Wadsworth has been really interested in Joan lately, and the she definitely does not share your point of view.”

The Head of their regional Association was someone Sam rarely ever encountered. She was confident, charismatic, determined, and Sam did her best to stay out of her way and line of attention. It was a surprise then, when she’d wished Sam a congratulations on her engagement and given some words of advice. Sam had stuttered a thank you, and fled back to her desk.

Mark hums. “We’ll figure it out, if anyone can, it’s Joanie. She knows how to work through all that bureaucracy. I can’t stand it, sometimes I wonder if we could just burn it down.” After a moment, he adds, “Joan’s gotta be home by now, I’m gonna go check on her.”

He covers her in kisses, the crown of her head, her biceps, her fists (“Because my wife is a fighter, and I love that,” he says every time and she wants to die of happiness every time), and finally a lingering one on her lips.

Finally, he slides out of bed, and pulls a change of clothes out of the drawers. He forgoes socks entirely. As he’s getting ready to leave, Sam tells herself now is the time to ask. Joan always tells her it’s okay to want things, to want _more_, to try. She’s working on it. This is practice.

“Hey...” she says from the sheets, still warm with his heat.

He patiently waits for her to find the courage to find her words.

“...can we try something new next time you stay over?” Mark had been Sam’s first at most things sex, and while having a fiance who knew all sorts of tricks and positions Sam had never thought of, it was about time she tried to level the playing field.

Mark beams. “You got it.”

And Sam knows he’s glowing not at the promise of sex, but because he knows how much that took for her to say, and he’s proud of her for doing it.

God, she can’t wait to marry this man.

“I love you Mark, see you soon.”

“I love you too, Sam.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 22, “I know how you love to play games.”

Even without her alarm, Joan still wakes up early. There’d been no sex dreams, although she had dreamt of slurping down tonkatsu ramen with Damien at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It was odd, but she had been hungrier than usual lately.

Sunlight hasn’t yet penetrated the bedroom, but the warmth of her skin feels as if she’d fallen asleep beneath it. Wondering if it was Damien who was running hot, she tries to turn, but realizes he’s firmly tangled around her. He’d wedged a leg between hers and cradled her hips with his, his morning wood pressing pleasantly against her butt. She could feel his chest hair brushing against her with the rise and fall of his breath. He squeezes her breast at her movement, and his nose nuzzles into her neck. She can feel his breath there too.

And while yes, he is hot, it doesn’t explain why she feels so refreshed. Regardless, she needs to extricate herself. An odd situation, given she usually isn’t so indulgent of a clingy partner. She didn’t mind it right after sex, but usually she managed to roll away and take the blankets with her by morning.

It takes some doing, but she manages to get out of Damien’s grip. The moment she escapes, he moves into the warm spot she left. She feels something at that.

She hadn’t meant to stay the night, but she can’t say it was bad. Her limbs and muscles feel loose for once, a welcome respite from the now-daily aches. One of the things she likes about sex is being fucked back into her body. And while yes, her thighs are sore, and she expects Damien to have left bruises somewhere, she doesn’t mind.

Goodness, how much money had this apartment cost? The floors are heated, and when she reaches the bathroom, its tile is also heated. The bathtub is large enough to fit three people, the shower head looks like it has more settings than a premium vibrator, and of course he doesn’t have a shower curtain but a sliding glass panel.

While peeing – she hopes the delay doesn’t cause a UTI; she doesn’t fully believe incubus are an STD panacea – she touches her anus. She doesn’t feel any discomfort, just an awareness she doesn’t usually carry there. Getting rid of the lingering traces of lubricant takes longer than she wants, but she is not going home with her butt slippery and no panties to protect her skirt. 

After washing her hands thoroughly, and turning off the bathroom light, she steps back into the dark bedroom. It takes her some time, but she gathers up her clothes, which aren’t completely cold thanks to the heated floor. She wonders if heated closets are a thing.

After putting her clothes back on, she looks back at Damien, still soundly asleep. She thinks of pulling his hair, getting back into bed, watching his eyes move from sleepy to aroused, and starting her day with an orgasm.

Instead, she leaves.

* * *

After clearing the flashing alarm on her phone, Joan sees the hour and curses. Hustling out of the apartment, she calls for a cab in the elevator – who still gets cell service in an elevator? – and while she waits in the lobby, dials Mark to let him know she’s running late.

He tells her not to hurry. He’s probably going back to bed with Sam, but she hurries anyway. She gets home, throws last night’s clothes into the hamper, showers, and pick out a new set of clothes.

Mark knocks on the door, then lets himself in. “It’s me Joan!” he yells.

Quickly blow-drying her hair to take the worst of the wetness away, she hurries. She’d rather wear pajamas, but Mark’ll be in proper clothes, so she should too. She compromises by wearing a sports bra instead of an underwire one. After pulling on jeans and a tank, she makes her way to the kitchen where she can hear him banging around.

When she sees him, she grabs him from behind for a great big hug.

“Oof, hi to you too Joanie.”

“I missed you,” she says into his back.

He moves his arm a bit. “I figured I’d bring breakfast to you.”

Letting him go, he turns to face her.

“And this has nothing to do with the fact you’re dying to ask me about Damien?” she inquires.

“Well, that too. I know you’re not going to spill the details in public. But let’s get some food in you first.”

Mark’s already pulled two plates, serving spoons, and forks and knives for them. The three bags of styrofoam containers are in various stages of readiness, most are still in the bag, but some are already taken out.

As they lay out the food, it barely all fits on her table. They have to move some of the containers to the counter to make room for their plates. The smell is mouth-watering. Peach compote pancakes, with little containers of butter and syrup, scrambled eggs, English muffins, bacon, eggs benedict, pain au chocolate, some kind of enormous omelet, country potatoes for her, hash browns fro him, ketchup, and corn beef hash with popped cherry tomatoes.

“This is a lot of food,” Joan notes, but her stomach is more than ready to eat it all.

Mark gives her a look. “I remember very well how much I ate before I became a Beacon, and you’ve been eating a lot more than usual lately.”

Joan ignores him in favor of the pancakes, fluffy, salty from the butter, and sweet with syrup.

“I don’t know how you’ve resisted it so long. I remember what it was like, always hungry, always achey. I can’t imagine letting that go on for as long as you have. Is it Damien that’s making it worse for you? You’re starting to eat his magic, right?”

“The growing pains are an annoyance.” That was the easiest way to describe it. The feeling of her ear about to pop, or a joint that needed to crack but wouldn’t, a tense muscle just about ready to release; any of those would be appropriate too.

One of the reasons she didn’t take on more powerful wards was precisely this reason. The more potent the magic she took, the closer her capacity as a Lantern was stretched. Magic was like any other organism, it wanted to grow and serve its purpose. And Joan had been carefully stifling her magic’s desire to grow since she was a teenager. Damien’s magic was powerful though, and the more she took from him, the more her magic fought her. It wanted to escape her grasp and grow past the limits of being a Lantern, and Damien’s magic would make it do precisely that.

Still, his magic was so tempting, and it felt so good when he fed it to her.

While getting seconds on the omelet, she concedes more. “Yes, I think I’ve been taking some of his magic. ...It’s very hard not to.” While showering, she’d thought about how she felt this morning. While she hadn’t meant to, she she’d taken from his magic while they’d slept. He’d been so sated on her own sexual satisfaction, what she’d taken hadn’t even disturbed his sleep. Christ, even when she slept, her magic had a mind of its own.

Mark is silent, and for a few minutes, it’s just them eating. Mark makes sure to pass her food, heaping extra bacon and English muffins onto her plate with jam and butter.

Eventually, he does ask about Damien.

“He’s not… without his merits,” is Joan’s terse reply.

“Uh-huh. Joanie you’re the most vibrant I’ve seen since we were kids. It’s nice to see you be impulsive. I always wondered why you stayed with Owen.”

Because Owen had been a comfort. He was a good man, gentle, kind, had never treated her poorly, and it certainly helped he was great in bed. Joan had felt bad about breaking up with him, but she knew it was right. He’d wanted a life together, and he’d only ever been a moment of respite for Joan.

“He’s a good man,” is what she says instead.

“I’ve never understood how you don’t suffer fools, yet you always date assholes. But Damien does seem more your type.”

Joan sinks into the chair, cringing. “I don’t know if that’s a vote of confidence, or a criticism.”

“Well, I did just say you’re alive in a way I haven’t seen you be in years. The dude may be a jerk, but if he makes you happy, I can try and see the good in him too.”

Mark really was a better person than her.

“He’s trying to marry me,” she admits.

“_What?” _The eggs slide off his fork.

“Or the incubus equivalent,” she adds.

“Still. Wow. I never thought… ok… well, how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Joanie that’s not an answer. If he’s serious, and you – ”

“You know how I love playing games,” she says sharply, then sighs. “I’m sorry.” Taking a couple of moments, she gathers her words. “Frustrated, confused.” She eats more of the peach compote with the English muffin.

“Why don’t you?” Mark says. “It’s not permanent, from what I understand.”

“It’s still sharing of myself on the deepest level with someone else.” She hates lying to Mark, so she adds, “And because if we bond, I don’t think I could keep myself from taking more of his magic, and then I’d be a Beacon.”

“You could hide yourself and me,” he says confidently.

“I’m sure I’d find a way, but not right away. Hiding you works now, because my magic covering yours reads as a Lantern, which is true. If I jump to Beacon, that covering won’t read Lantern anymore.” She pushes her eggs around, then spears it with her fork.

“Joan, you can’t use me as an excuse not to live your life. That makes me feel terrible! So what if you can’t protect me if you bond with this guy? I want you happy too, and I know if I disappear, whoever is dumb enough to do that better watch out because you’d never let them keep me for long.”

Joan smiles. “Damn right, I’d find you. I’d do anything for you.”

“You should have more than one person you feel that way about. And remember you have people who feel that way about you too.”

“Geez, are you trying to counsel me like you would your own wards?”

“Hey, this is pro bono work!”

“Totally off-the-books, illegal, pro bono work,” she teases.

Although it wasn’t legal because they weren’t his registered wards, Mark had always kept in touch with some of the more powerful creatures of the supernatural community he’d tended to before. Few people could boast they’d helped unicorns and centaurs. Or that they’d been literally on fire from helping an ifrit. Goodness, Joan remembers having to chase him around their backyard trying to put him out. She’d yelled at the ifrit to help, bit it’d just laughed at them, smoke escaping its mouth. Mark had been just fine, and had told her to try it too.

“Not my fault the Association is full of greedy people who want to make basic human decency a transaction when it should be freely given,” he quips.

And there he was, still seeing the best in everyone. Joan didn’t agree all supernaturals should roam without check, but she didn’t agree with the Association’s policy of constant monitoring either.

They begin consolidating the food into other boxes, making more room on the table. Mark eats the rest of the omelet, insisting Joan keep the leftover three boxes for herself.

“Do you ever wonder where all the supernaturals you helped are when they’re not with you?” Joan muses.

“Living healthy and fulfilling lives,” Mark replies, imitating Joan.

They laugh.

After a moment, Mark asks, “Would it be so bad though, being a Beacon?”

“Mark,” Joan says, reaching over the food to squeeze his hand. “I can’t shield both of us if I become a Beacon too. Besides,” she adds, “I’m not as kind-hearted as you. There’s so much we don’t know about Beacons, but some of the rumors… I don’t know what I would do with that power.”

“You’d help people,” Mark replies without hesitation.

“I love you too Mark.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night, interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 12, “Who could do this?”

Joan leaves Damien a voicemail – what kind of voicemail greeting is _it’s me, leave a message… maybe_? – inviting him over if he brings her dinner. She’d send him a calendar invite, but she suspects he doesn’t have one, either in print or digital.

He replies back by text with a string of emojis she doesn’t know what to make of, she says so, and then he types back _u got it._

At 6:37pm she hears dull thumping at her door. If she wasn’t waiting for him, she would’ve missed it. After peering through the peep hole, she opens the door.

His hip is cocked to knock against her door again. He hadn’t rung the bell, or called, because he couldn’t be bothered to put down the bags loaded on his arms.

“You’re late,” she states.

He straightens up. “Is that anyway to talk to someone who brought you dinner at your request?”

He hands her the bags as he toes and then kicks his shoes off.

“Besides,” he continues, hopping to get the other foot, “so what if I’m a couple of minutes late? Did anything happen because of it? You weren’t in the lingerie I got you and decided to take it off right?” He gives her a cursory leer. “You couldn’t turn into a pumpkin, because you wouldn’t even go out. So why does it matter so much if I’m not here the moment 6:30 strikes?”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she carries the bags into the living room. Even though the bags are knotted shut, heat still emanates from them.

“I already have Netflix running.”

“Are we Netflix and chilling again?”

She gives him a glare. “Netflix first, and if you behave, _maybe_ I’ll let you kiss me.”

“You’re such a tease,” he says rolling his eyes, but there’s genuine warmth too.

She has Ken Burns’  _JAZZ_ queued up, but Damien snatches the remote from her. “Uh-uh,” he says. “You clearly need some romance in your life.”

While Damien scrolls through the website quicker than Joan can read, she digs the TV tray out from her closet. While she preferred to eat at a table, Mark had convinced her it was fine to eat and talk while watching TV too. Setting it up in front of the couch, she moves the takeout containers there.

Damien found what he was looking for, as  a woman begins extolling the four features – the eponymous  _Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat_ – that make or break a dish, against a backdrop of beautifully shot food, castles, oceans and forests, and budding flowers.

They begin digging into the sides of gyoza, takoyaki with sauce and mayo drizzled on top, and sesame balls filled with red bean paste. Damien’s face is shocked when Joan mixes vinegar into the soy sauce for the gyoza, but he’s won over when he tries it for himself.

The ramen is tonkatsu, and when she looks at the logo on the napkins, she’s reminded of the dream she had when she stayed the night. She slants him an odd look, but he shrugs his shoulders and smiles. She wants to ask him what he isn’t saying, but she can ask after they have their conversation.

But first, dinner.

She’s surprised to find herself enjoying his choice of shows. It’s not the flashy reality show she’s familiar with. This is filmed much more like a documentary, sweeping aerial landscapes, beautiful lighting, a tender soundtrack, and the host clearly loves what she’s doing. She can see why Damien called this romantic. It makes her hungry, and she reaches for seconds on the takoyaki.

Halfway through her ramen, Damien takes out a third container of ramen, and pours half of it into her takeout bowl.

“How much do you think I can eat?” she asks, bemused.

“A lot. You’re a tiny Asian girl.”

She blinks at him. “Pardon?”

“I mean, would you rather I say it’s because I know you’re eating like twelve year old boy whose voice just broke because your body’s revving up to become a Beacon?”

There’s a habitual ping of panic in her belly. But given she suspected he already knew, she’s surprised he’s named it after all this time. She didn’t think he was capable of keeping quiet about anything he learned.

Reminding herself he hasn’t done anything with the knowledge all this time, she steadies herself. This isn’t what she planned on discussing with him, but it’s still a good opening.

“I have no plans on changing my status,” she says levelly, setting down her chopsticks on the edge of the bowl.

The look he gives her says he thinks her absolutely mad.

“I mean, that’s pretty clear.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You feel like...” He makes a motion that looks like a handjob and she gapes at him. “...a soda can that’s been shaken up. All ready to pop from the pressure. And I’ve never felt anything like it, and the only thing that would make you that fizzy is time. So, you must’ve been suppressing it for years.”

“Yes,” she admits. Then, not wanting to totally lose her balance in this conversation, “I’m surprised you didn’t use that as a come on about fizzing all over you.”

He throws his head back, and kicks a foot out. “Hoo boy, I knew my pick up lines would work! Gotta say I’m glad I rubbed off on you.”

She groans at that, but turns on the couch to directly face him. “I’m serious though, I have no intent to become a Beacon, and that puts me in direct conflict with your intent to bond with me.”

“So you admit, my magic is potent stuff?”

“Yes,” she replies flatly. “It’s very strong, and you know it’s very hard to resist sampling it. If I consent to bonding with you, we’d be feeding off each other’s magic, and we’d both become more powerful. I’d certainly jump classes. And while that’s not something all Lightkeepers could do, I can’t let myself do that.” She pops a whole gyoza in her mouth and angrily chews its crunchy skin.

“Oh, man, I got the sauce!” he crows.

“Please don’t turn this into an innuendo about your ejaculate, I’m trying to be serious.”

He starts snorting with laughter. “God I can’t wait to find out how long it takes to loosen up your tight-ass.”

“Just because I let you – ” She’s getting side-tracked. _F__ocus, Joan_. “I wanted to tell you, because you want something I can’t give you. And while sex with you is diverting, I also don’t want to lead you on.”

“And how long will it take for you to say things like _cum_, and _sex with you blows my mind_?” 

“Did you even hear what I just said?” she asks, starting to get peeved.

He pulls himself up, and crawls across the couch to her. “Oh, I did.” He plops his head in her lap, and she grabs a fistful of his hair – entirely curly this time – and yanks.

Half-opening his eyes, he pouts. “Are you saying you’re breaking up with me_?”_

“Do you even want to keep doing this if I won’t give you what you want?”

He reaches up for her with hands that smell like grease and broth. He hadn’t used a napkin, and she considers licking it off of him to prevent stains on her couch.

“Joan, the whole point of dating is to have fun, and you’re fucking fun and smart and hot. I’m not expecting you to suddenly fall into my arms and onto my dick, you’re not that kinda girl.” This might be the first time a date called her fun. “That doesn’t change just because you have performance anxiety, which is common anyway. If you would just tell me why, we could – ”

Damien’s words fall away as she feels – her magic –

Something’s happening to Mark. She feels the exact moment Mark’s magic changes, as if her own arm has suddenly decided to grow wings and fly away. She knows the feel of his magic as well as her own – warm, inviting, like a slow summer day you spend with friends – and this is… different. She struggles to keep shielding him, but it keeps changing, and she loses control over it. She feels her bubble over him pop, and Mark shines like the sun at midnight to her magic senses, crackling like a solar flare.

“Whoa,” Damien says. “Is that your brother?”

“_Fuck_.” 

“You feel similar,” he murmurs, then laments, “And here I thought date night was going well.”

Mark’s light suddenly goes out, and Joan knows something is wrong; she hasn’t covered his magic in hers again, and while Mark could shiel d his magic, it shouldn’t feel like it had been snuffed out like that, feeling like nothing at all.

Joan shoves Damien off of her, and grabs her phone, frantically calling Mark.

“Mark, Mark are you okay?” she says, hating how panicked she sounds, but unable to stop it.

Ten minutes later, she’s still trying to contact him on every messaging system he has, down to Skype and text message. Damien is trying to calm her down with _shh_ing noises, patting her back with his hands and his magic, but where is her brother? She’s ready to get in her car and start driving, she doesn’t know where, but Damien convinces her to stay with a fork full of pork and threatening to feed her the broth mouth-to-mouth.

“Gross,” she states.

“Hot,” he corrects. She thinks about smacking the smirk off his face, but for that brief moment, she wasn’t thinking about Mark, and maybe that was what he was trying to do.

There’s frantic knocking at the door, and Joan snaps towards it. Sam’s muffled voice calling, “Joan, let me in!”

Launching herself from the couch, she scrambles to open the door. Damien’s arm around her waist stops her from hitting her head on the door in her haste.

Opening the door, Sam looks like how Joan feels. Her brown hair could barely be called a ponytail, lop-sided, stray hairs, every where, and whole sections of her hair hanging loose. Her face is pale, her shirt on backwards and her drawstring pants inside out, her feet hastily shoved into sandals.

“Well, at least _some_one got some tonight,” Damien says. And yes, there are red marks blooming on Sam’s neck. (Joan’ll see how much _he_ likes people making comments about his sex life when she leaves enough marks on him people will think him a wereleopard.)

Joan ignores him. “Sam, what are you doing here? Did you drive? Were you speeding to get here this fast? What happened to Mark?”

“Joan,” and her voice chokes. “Joan, I … I didn’t… He told me he was… so I… ” she trails off looking at Damien. “Wait, is that …” she steals a quick look at Joan, some of her usual quiet humor showing through the panic, “...you know?”

Damien more than happily pipes up, “Lantern B’s dashing boyfriend?”

Sam turns back to Damien. “I’ll take that as a yes. Um, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand.

Looking pleased as punch, Damien gives Sam’s hand a big shake. “And who are you? Joan hasn’t mentioned _you_ at all.”

“Ignore him,” Joan says. “Keep talking.” 

A fter stepping aside to let Sam in, Joan shuts the door.

“Right, so Mark told me about the whole...”

Sam is truly a wreck; she hadn’t pulled her hand back from Damien yet. Joan elbows him, not wanting him to try and use the contact to invade Sam’s privacy or Mark’s.

“No point in hiding it now,” Joan states, “the whole city saw that, if not further.”

“Like that was a surprise?” Damien gripes. “Talent runs in the family.”

Sam continues,  “ So he told me about the Beacon thing, and how you’d been protecting him all this time. So I got curious and was doing some research, and  Head Lantern Wadsworth mentioned...”

“Wait, Ellie’s involved?” Joan says, but Sam keeps talking.

“...since we were getting married now, a good way to ‘foster intimacy’ she said was to exchange magic, and I knew that, and I knew Mark had always been hesitant about it. I figured he wanted to wait until we were married.” Damien snorts. “But then I realized it probably was because he was hiding he was a Beacon, and that sure would’ve been a dead-giveaway. Can you imagine doing that for the first time, and ‘Surprise! Guess what, I have the magical force of a hurricane?’” Sam’s words had gotten faster and faster, her voice getting higher as she went.

“Breathe, Sam,” Joan says gently. Looking at Damien, she orders him to be useful and go get tissues.

Tugging away some of the magic building under Sam’s skin,  Joan guides her to sit on the couch . If  Sam’s stressed enough, her flight-or-fight instincts will activate her beserker magic, and Joan would rather not have to absorb that; it made her extremely irritable,  and Damien would certainly try to get her to blow it off with sex instead of anger. Joan ought to mention that as a possible method for her toolkit;  she hadn’t thought of it before because she tried not to think about her friends or family’s sex lives .

“And I was curious what that felt like, and I wanted to make sure we were compatible in every way! What if I wasn’t any good and he decided he wanted someone more rare and powerful? So we decided just to swap a little bit of our magic, and it was amazing! But then...”

J oan  can extrapolate what happened next . With Sam’s magic pouring into Mark, and Mark giving her his, they made an entirely different kind of magic, one Joan was too unfamiliar with to hide.  She takes a seat next to Sam, their shoulders touching.

Making flashing motions with her hands, Sam rushes, “...he went all flashy, and we stopped and tried to calm down, hoping he could shield himself again, but then these people came in threw a hood over him and took him…!” She starts crying and no words get past her sobs.

Damien, still standing, passes Sam a crumpled tissue. And as she blows her nose, he says, “Damn, they didn’t even let him bust a nut before bagging him. They could’ve at least done that.”

“They could’ve at least _not kidnapped my brother!” _Joan yells.

If she wasn’t so angry, she would’ve laughed at Damien’s panic at handling her anger and Sam’s tears. After a couple of moments, Joan remembers she should be angry with the soon-to-be-sorry fuckers who kidnapped her brother, and Sam’s crying subsides to sniffles. In part, because Joan continues skimming magic from Sam. She knows she should let Sam process the feelings and the way her magic spikes with it naturally, but Joan doesn’t have time for that.

“So,” Damien says, “You took _advice_ from the scary lady who runs the local Association? Even I can tell you that’s a bad idea.”

Joan  issues him a  glare that says,  _Are you _ _fucking kidding_ _ me_ ?

Sam looks at him helplessly with red eyes. “I figured it was just a case of good advice from a bad person. It seemed like a good idea!”

“It sounds like she took advantage of your weaknesses,” Damien says.

“What?” Sam hiccups.

“You’re always afraid of losing him.”

Sam points at Damien. “Wait just a minute there, buddy...” 

“Damien...” Joan warns, seeing how tightly Sam’s clenching the other four fingers of her hand.

“Hey, hey, don’t make me the bad guy. I just… might’ve done some reconnaissance on you when I was looking into Mark, because Joanie here couldn’t be bothered to text me.”

“You went into Sam and Mark’s dreams?” Joan accuses.

Sam just says, “Joanie?” looking at Damien strangely.

Returning her gaze to Sam, Joan says, “That is not how I would’ve phrased it, but I think Damien’s right. Ellie is very good at what she does, and that includes being able to read people – and any Lightkeeper reports… including my own on you. I’m not surprised she used you to get at what she wanted.”

“Joan, what did you write about me?” she whispers. The look on Sam’s face is even more heart-broken, and although Joan wrote the truth, she still wonders how long this will take to mend.

“Sam, I...”

“No.” Sam makes an effort to unclench her fists, and relax her tensed muscles. “We can talk about this later, and I’m really upset, but you’re still going to be my sister. And right now, we both need to find Mark first to make sure that happens.”

“Who could’ve done such a thing,” Damien drawls.

“Shut up,” Joan replies, but keeps looking at Sam.

Sam sniffles, but her eyes don’t leave Joan’s.

They all have a suspicion.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone call with Head Lantern Wadsworth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 24, “You knows this, you know this to be true.”

The heavy silence lingers a moment, and Joan realizes she needs to speak before Damien makes another attempt at tasteless humor.

“We’re not going to solve anything on an empty stomach. Sam, stay here. Damien, get her some of our food. I’m going to go get a sweatshirt for her.”

He’s much more likely to do as she says if she doesn’t give him the chance to be smart. So she goes to her room before Damien can come up with a quip. She searches her closet for the bag of clothes she’s been meaning to give back to Mark, but was so far in the back she couldn’t be bothered to haul it out. Sam will probably feel comforted by something of Mark’s. Besides, she’s apt to be uncomfortable half-dressed in a room with Damien.

Finding a faded black sweatshirt from his alma mater, Joan heads back out to Sam and Damien sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

Damien’s placed the leftover container of takoyaki and gyoza in front of Sam. Thank goodness he had the sense not to feed her the ramen they’d already eaten out of. It was good to know he had the sense to know serving a guest liquid you’d already drank from was gross.

“So you don’t have any embarrassing photos of Joan or incriminating stories? Geez, what kind of best friend are you?”

“I’m her best friend?” Sam says, her chopsticks midway to her mouth. Joan realizes she needs to be more clear how much she values her friendship with Sam if she’s asking Damien that.

“I mean, that would be me, clearly, but boyfriend and best gal pal are two separate categories.” His face takes on a look she knows means he’s being an asshole because it’s easy and expected of him. Maybe she needs to use positive re-enforcement to get him to change that habit. “Unless you’re the kind of gal pal who knows how much and how far Joan can squirt – ”

“Nope, I don’t need to know any of that!” Sam interjects, setting the food back down and waving him off with both of her hands. “How about you tell me if it’s true that the more time you spend with Joan, the more she’s immune to your ability to redirect her wants?”

Joan was going to enter their line of sight to save Sam from this line of conversation, but Sam hadn’t told her about any of this. She wonders why and wants to learn more.

“You find that in your research?” his voice a low drawl.

“Yes, and that seems the least risque topic to discuss, and I really want to steer the conversation away form my friend’s sex life. She’s not that kind of girltalk friend. That’s more Chloe, if Chloe were into that kinda thing.”

She wasn’t aware Sam and Chloe had talked more than in passing in her waiting room.

“Yeah, it’s true.”

“I don’t want to assume, but you’re going to be loyal to her right?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. Drama queen. “I figured out pretty quickly Joan’s the monogamous type, and luckily for her, I have no plans on sharing her either. Although some exhibitionism to show Owen --”

Sam cuts him off. “I just want to make sure your intentions are good. Because from what Mark’s said, Joan should be worried about being stolen too, and if you’re not going to be the kind of friend who’d go against the Association to find her, you shouldn’t be in her life.”

Joan’s a little flattered Sam’s giving the shovel talk in Mark’s absence. Also, the fact Damien knows about Owen is annoying, but Joan can probably save that tidbit and use it to her advantage at a later time when she wants to needle him.

Damien’s cackle fills the room. “Oh, man, you’re asking _me_, unregistered incubus, if I give a fuck what the Association thinks? I don’t give a fuck, she’s mine, I won’t let her go.”

“Unless she asks.”

“Unless she asks,” he concedes sulkily.

Well, that was informative on a factual and character level. Joan walks in and hands Sam the sweatshirt.

Joan takes the seat between them, Damien sliding the rest of her ramen in front of her. She squeezes his thigh in thanks. He has a bit more muscle than she thought he would. Maybe he worked out a minimal amount to look the part?

The puppy look he gives her is embarrassing in its eagerness, and Joan sees Sam catch it from the corner of her eye.

Joan needs to get the ball rolling before they wind up discussing her personal life again. “So why would Ellie want Mark?”

“Because Beacons always get stolen?” Damien states.

“If the Association always goes after Beacons, why wouldn’t the National Headquarters take him instead of Head Lantern Wadsworth? She’s only the head of this region,” Sam muses.

“Ellie’s always enjoyed acquiring power. She probably has some plan for Mark to further her ambitions.”

“Those plans include him alive, right?” Sam asks.

Joan’s reply is quick, “Even though we don’t hear from Beacons, they’re too rare to be killed. We need to confirm Ellie has him. Sam, can you call her?” All employees had the line to the Head Lantern’s emergency cell phone, to be kept on their person at all times.

“Me?” she squeaks.

“You’re mousier,” Damien says. “She’s more likely to gloat at you than at Joan.”

“And you’d know this how?” Joan asks, hoping Damien didn’t do research into Ellie.

“She has a reputation,” is all he says.

“I agree,” Joan admits. “Ellie has to know by now I’m involved with hiding Mark. She’s not likely to tell me where he is. She doesn’t review her assessment of people once she makes them though, so you’re the best person Sam. She likely doesn’t realize what a capable and determined person you are.”

“I think that’s a backhanded way of saying she thinks I’m a doormat, but I guess I have no one to blame but myself given my career path. Alright.” She pulls the sweatshirt tighter around herself. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

Much to Sam and Damien’s surprise, Joan comes up with how she and Damien can listen in on Sam’s phone call. Joan finds the old headphone splitter she and Mark had used to listen to her Walkman together on. Sam plugs her headphones that have a microphone and Joan and Damien split another set of headphones sans microphone.

“Okay, I’m dialing,” Sam says with a waver in her voice. “Don’t forget to be quiet though, the microphone on my earbuds might pick up any noises you make.”

Joan nods, trying to project calm.

Ellie picks up quickly, her voice bright and showing no signs of annoyance at being called past 9pm. “Samantha! To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“Head Lantern Wadsworth, I want to… I have to… report a kidnapping of a Lantern. Mark is missing.” Sam’s voice cracks, and it’s a blessing that Sam’s emotions run so close to her skin.

“Oh my, that’s serious,” Ellie’s voice is low and concerned. What a liar.

“Do you know who might’ve taken him?” Not the most ideal of transitions, but it’ll do.

There’s silence on the other end, then Ellie’s voice is musical with its amusement. “Samantha, this isn’t a pleasure call at all is it? This is a _fishing_ expedition.”

Sam looks to Joan, panicked, and Joan presses her lips together tightly. It’s Damien who motions with his hands to keep going.

“What do you known Head Lantern Wadsworth?” Sam continues to look at Damien as if he can feed her questions.

“Ever so formal, even while accusing me of kidnapping your fiancé. I must applaud your manners. Never fear, though, I have Beacon Bright’s _best_ interests at heart.”

“Please,” she whispers into the phone, “just let Mark go.”

“Oh, Samantha you have nothing to bargain with.”

“What?”

“Samantha, what could you give me? You know that, you know that I’m right. You couldn’t possibly find something worth my interest, not when you’ve spent all those years since your parents’ death hiding in your apartment and in the library. But if you find something, you’re welcome to call me back.”

And then, Ellie hangs up.

Sam clutches her phone tightly in one hand, and removes her earbuds with the other. She doesn’t look like she’ll crack the screen, good. “So she has him.”

“Yes,” Joan agrees. “Now that we have confirmation, the question is where is she keeping him?”

“I can’t feel his magic anywhere,” Sam says, “But you have a wider range than I do Joan.”

Joan shakes her head. “I can’t feel him either. They likely have him somewhere that blocks all external magic.”

“What if I look for him in his dreams?” Damien offers.

Joan’s brain is spinning. It’s possible. His dream magic operates on a different plane than she can sense.

“Can you fall asleep now?” Joan queries.

“Yeah. I can fall asleep anytime, anyplace, it’s a great party trick.”

“But won’t this work only if Mark’s asleep too?” Sam asks. “Will the Association even let him sleep?”

“What do you think they are, torturers?” Joan sighs.

Damien’s look says enough.

Joan concedes, “Alright, I admit there’s no evidence suggestion that they _don’t_.”

Leaning back in his chair, Damien stretches his arms. With his shirt riding up like that Joan can see the dark hair on his stomach. He lets the chair drop back onto her floor, and Joan’s glad she has the protection pads on the bottom of the legs to prevent them from scratching her floor.

Looking to Joan and then Sam, Damien says, “Alrighty then, I’m going to get ready to go on my vision quest. I dunno how long this is gonna take. What are you guys going to do while I sleep?”

“Plan.”

“Sleep.”

Joan looks at Sam in surprise.

“Joan, sleep as impossible as it seems, might be the only way to stop being so scared. And I can’t plan anything without knowing where he is. And you should sleep too.”

“Alright, it’s settled then,” Damien crows, “Group nap!”

“Uh, I’ll take the couch,” Sam says.

Joan silently thanks whatever powers that be that she and Damien hadn’t gotten any bodily fluids on the couch.

“Well, I’m off to get my beauty sleep,” Damien proclaims and heads into Joan’s bedroom.

Joan gathers toiletries, along with blankets and a pillow for Sam. As she fluffs the pillow for a third time, Sam asks her if she’s alright.

“I’m the one who should be asking you that,” Joan says softly. “I know what I wrote about you hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Sam, sitting on the sofa, grabs Joan’s hand. “You were just doing your job.”

Joan keeps looking at the sofa. “That’s not a good reason. I’m well aware of what it means that I’m working for the Association.”

“Mark said that you… you might have the same feelings about the ward system as he does.”

Squeezing Sam’s hand once, she pulls away and meets her gaze. “I agree with Mark that we shouldn’t have to track every supernatural person. It gives the false sense that supernatural abilities makes one more prone to violence, when really that’s just human nature. But I do think we should have files at least on the ones who are high risk.”

“What would we all have been like in a world like that?” Sam’s voice is wistful.

Perhaps it’s the lateness of the hour, or the extenuating circumstances, but Joan shares, “I don’t like to think about it, it hurts too much.”

“Oh, Joan.”

Joan can hear the pity in Sam’s voice, and this is why she didn’t want to – Her dismay must show on her face (again, she blames the adrenaline for that), and bless Sam for not giving her perfunctory platitudes. Instead, she says, “Well, you still have Mr. Right Now.”

“_Sam_!”

Sam’s grin turns cheeky, “Unless you’re beginning to think he’s not just Mr. Right Now, but Mr. Right...”

“_Don’t_ let him hear you say that. Ever. Please.” Joan quickly looks around to make sure he wasn’t lurking and eavesdropping. She’d never live it down if he heard that.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for you in bed. Probably naked. You should go find out, I’ll be fine here.”

Sam has a large heart, even when her own fears must be as large as skyscrapers, she’ s still trying to make Joan feel better.  Joan gives  her a large hug. Sam squeaks, and then hesitantly places her hands on Joan’s back. They usually do brief, light hugs, nothing like this  close hold.

“Thanks, Sam. I don’t know what I did to have a friend like you, but I’m glad.”

“I’m glad we’re friends too, now off with you!”

W hen they pull apart, Joan sees the tears in Sam’s eyes but says nothing. After reiterating she’s here if Sam needs anything at all, she makes it to her bedroom.

Both the ceiling light and the lamp by her beside are turned on, but Damien isn’t waiting for her on the bed. Instead, he’s in the adjoining bathroom brushing his teeth, mouth full of foaming toothpaste.

She steps inside, the tile not heated like his. “Did you find the spare toothbrush?”

He spits some of the toothpaste out and looks at her in the mirror, “Nope, just using yours.”

She blinks.

“Oh come on, I’ve had my face in your ass and your pussy, and your mouth, and the toothbrush grosses you out?”

“It’s not hygienic,” she states.

He shrugs, but rummages through the cabinet under the sink and hands her a toothbrush. She stands at the second sink and begins washing up.

It’s strangely domestic sharing the bathroom with him, coordinating their movements as she reaches for a washcloth for her face as he steps around her to pee.

She glares at him for assuming that kind of intimacy so quickly, but he takes it as a reminder to lower the lid and wash his hands when he’s done.

When she exits the bathroom, he’s sitting in bed, and if the pile of clothes on the floor is any indication, he’s naked under the olive colored sheets thumbing his phone.

Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she takes out a set of navy pajamas with white piping at the seams, and changes with her back to the bed. When she turns around, untucking her hair from the collar, she finds Damien watching her intently.

“I am not having sex with you,” she says, just to be clear.

He shakes his head. “C’mere,” holding down the blankets for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” but she still gets into her bed with him. They both lie down, and Damien fluffs one of the pillows he was using as a backrest before returning it to her. She settles on her side, just where the cold sheets give way to his body heat, her head beneath his armpit.

“I can do both,” he yawns. Rolling to face her, he hooks his leg over hers and throws an arm over her waist, pulling her in even closer. She usually doesn’t enjoy being this tangled up, but the faint smell of spearmint on his breath and the warmth of him is comforting.

He falls asleep, as easily as a star falling down.

And Joan, much to her surprise, does as well.

* * *

Joan wakes up to Damien staring at her, his chin on her sternum.

His face breaks into a grin, “Found ’im.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plot is hatched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 17, “I’ll tell you but you’re not gonna like it.”

Even though Damien’s face takes up most of her view, she can see sunlight seeping through her curtains. “Why didn’t you wake me up immediately?” she asks with raspy voice.

“You needed sleep. No sense planning to siege the Association without it.” He lets the weight of his head fall onto her chest, and his chin is hard point against the seam of her ribs.

She puts her hand on his back. There’s no sheet. Even though her heater’s kicked on, it hasn’t completely taken the chill out of the air. Still, Damien runs hot and she’s warm because of his body heat. He’d be good for cramps, or just as an electric blanket.

“Were you able to speak with him? Is he okay?” She means to to tug him off of her, but instead her hand migrates down the dip of his spine until she reaches his tailbone.

He shimmies up her body until she can grab his ass, his face presses against her neck and she can feel his morning erection.

He kisses her neck. She presses her nails into his butt in warning, but he begins sucking in earnest on her neck. Her back arches, and she feels the pre-cum of his erection against her belly where her shirt’s ridden up.

“Damien... ahh… my brother.”

He lifts his head and pouts. “Morning sex another day then. Nothing better to start the day with.”

She nods her head, realizing he’s probably drawing energy from it. Huh, sex, the incubus equivalent of coffee in the morning.

“The Association has him well hidden, but I recognized him. He feels like you in some ways.”

“Do you know where he is?”

He nods.

“Okay, let’s get up and tell Sam, so you only have to explain once.”

He doesn’t move off of her.

“Damien...”

“Oh, fine.”

He crawls down her body, and pushes her thighs apart and licks her over her pajama pants and underwear. And then, he rolls off the bed, taking all the blankets with him onto the floor.

He goes to open her door, but she clears her throat. “Are you going to put clothes on?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” He scrounges around for his clothes. “You know this would be easier if I could just keep some clothes here.”

“Alright, fine.” She gets out of bed next, and finds a sweater to throw over her pajamas. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Sam’s already awake. She’s seated in the kitchen, prodding a bowl of cereal despondently, and has the coffee ready.

“Oh, thank God, thanks Sam,” Joan says, hugging her.

Sam lets out a squeak.

Damien looks at the bowl of cereal in front of her, and says, “Heathens, all of you.” And proceeds to get milk, eggs, and the box of Bisquick he’d tossed into her pantry.

He also rummages for a bowl, a fork, and a large griddle she didn’t know she had. Had he stored it here too?

“So did you find him?” Sam asks.

“Yup,” Damien says.

“Whoa. Can you just tell where people are based on their dreams?”

Damien stops stirring the batter to give her a scathing look. “No, I can’t just tell someone is at 666 Shady Government Lane. I ask them, like any normal person does. He’s at the Association, here, in town. They haven’t moved him yet, but he thinks they might.”

“We need to be quick, the longer we wait, the higher the odds are they’ll move him,” Sam says, stirring her coffee.

“And we’re strongest here where we know the city, and we have ourselves, our best resource,” Joan adds, sitting next to her. “The bulk of the Association can’t be aware of what Ellie’s doing, and she can’t forbid us from entering.”

“But _where_ he is in the Association?”

She and Joan discuss how to go about finding out, as Damien finishes cooking the pancakes. He tosses them onto two plates, with a generous pat of butter and actual maple syrup.

“Where’s my plate?” Joan asks.

Damien smiles, cuts a bite, and holds it out to her. “Why, we’re sharing of course. Say ahhh honey.”

She takes the bite, telling herself it’s because she doesn’t want syrup dripping on the floor.

Sam smiles, but says nothing, just digging in to the stack of pancakes. She eventually comments they argue like an old married couple, and Joan’s eyebrow twitches while and Damien gloats.

When they finish breakfast, Sam says, “I have an idea. What if I had something Head Lantern Wadsworth would be interested in? She’d let me in. And if something were to happen. The security would likely go wherever Mark is.”

“Okay. I’m concerned it’s not very thorough, but it’ll have to do.”

Damien shrugs. “Necessity is the mother of invention. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just improvise.”

“We’ll be going with you, right Sam?” Joan adds.

“About that, I’ll tell you, but I don’t think you’re going to like it...”

Sam sums up her plan. They’ll walk into the Association, create a distraction, and the guards will go wherever to protect whatever is most important, presumably Mark.

“We’re just going to walk in?” Joan exclaims. “I doubt Ellie’s going to just let me breeze through.”

Sam says, “They’ll buy it. You’ve been secretly hiding Damien because you don’t want you to be torn away from him. I’m going to get the promotion I always wanted by netting the Association a powerful supernatural and a rogue Lightkeeper.” She pauses, then continues. “If she took Mark, then the other missing Lightkeepers might be her too. If that’s the case, you’re her type Joan.”

“Didja hear that babe?” Damien crows. “We’re star-crossed lovers!”

“Ah, to sell it though, I will need to punch your face.”

“What?”

Joan laughs. “Better you than me, _babe_.”

“You’re a powerful incubus who’s been on the lamb your whole life! You think you’re just going to let me take you and the love of your life in peacefully?” Joan gives it to Sam for figuring out appealing to his ego was the way to go.

“Why can’t Joan punch me?”

S am snorts. “I’m a valkyrie. My punch is going to pack more than Joan’s.”

Damien sighs deeply and long sufferingly, “For Joan, I guess I will.”

“Thanks, _darling_,” Joan remarks. And then to Sam, she states, “We’re going to need more people than just us. I doubt the three of us can be both the bait and a sufficient distraction.”

“That’s true,” Sam ponders.

“Since we don’t have all the answers we need now, that means we’ll need to meet again to prepare. The Association won’t think anything of you being here now, but a second visit will likely raise suspicions. They’re likely watching both your house and mine,” Joan says.

Sam thinks for a moment, then offers, “I think I know who can help us with the distraction, and where we can meet.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team assembles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 16, “This is gonna be so much fun!”
> 
> Accidentally hit post prematurely! Now fixed.

The next afternoon, Joan is not pleased to be driving up to Vanessa’s home. Asking Chloe for help and making her an accessory to their plot is _not_ what Joan wanted.

She parks next to Sam’s older Toyota in a patch of grass next to the large barn Vanessa had converted to a movie theater. (Thanks to Vanessa’s abilities as a fire witch, they were able to watch movies even in the dead of winter.)

When she knocks on the door, Vanessa answers it. She looks almost the same as she had back when they were both students, Joan at the Association and Vanessa with the local coven. Hair buzzed; hooded, warm eyes; and a love of bold patterns Joan envied.

“Joan,” Vanessa says warmly, taking her into a big hug. “I’m so happy to see you, but I’m a little hurt you didn’t come to me sooner… Or directly.”

Joan clutches the handle of her overnight bag. “Vanessa, I...”

“I’m glad you’re learning to let others help you though.” She gives Joan a look that shows she knows Joan isn’t quite there yet. “But I’m glad you’re here. We should have lunch when all of this is over.”

She releases her, and her hands rest on Joan’s shoulders, then steps away. “Chloe and Sam are in the back patio.”

“You’re not staying?” Joan’ s a little disappointed.

Vanessa gives a smile, her bronze crescent earrings shining. “This is between you, Chloe, and Sam. You didn’t ask for _my_ help. I meant it, you know, when I said I was here if you needed anything. The Association isn’t the only group who values Lightkeepers of you and your brother’s gifts.” She’d said that when they’d first met, and Joan had considered it a nicety only.” Joan wonders if there’s more to it now though.

It’s been a long time since Joan’s been inside Vanessa’s house, but she remembers the back of the house has a set of sliding doors that opens to the patio. Patio was perhaps a small term, given their backyard extended for acres, including Chloe’s garden, and wild space that butted up against the woods.

Joan steps out to the patio, where Sam and Chloe are talking beneath the pergola strung with fairy lights. Sam has her hands tucked into in an olive satin bomber jacket, while Chloe’s wearing a striped sweater and jeans smeared with old paint.

“I wasn’t aware the two of you knew...” Joan begins, but then she catches sight of the animal Chloe is cuddling.

“Chloe! That is not a dog!” It’s far too big to be a dog; it’s a veritable _wolf_.

Chloe digs her hand into the fur and scratches behind his ears. His tongue lolls out and tail wags. “Please forgive me,” she says putting her hands together. “I knew you’d be worried, but Frank’s super friendly! It’s not his fault he’s this way!”

“_That’s_ Frank?”

Frank barks.

“Oh, Damien’s here,” Sam says, saving Chloe and Joan from their conversation. Chloe gives her doe-eyes as they go to greet Damien at the front door.

Damien somehow fit a mountain of food into his black Camaro. She wasn’t aware a sports car had that much baggage space, or had ever been used for a more soccer-mom-like purpose.

“Sam told me to plan for hungry people. Everyone likes chili. I brought a Costco size amount of chips and cheese too.”

“How did Sam even have your number?”

“She doesn’t. She has Ma… my landline. She has my landline,” and the look was shifty even for him.

He goes inside to toss the food in the kitchen, then returns to his car.

When he reenters Vanessa’s home, it’s with a shallow, but broad package wrapped in red paper, with a gauzy red ribbon tied around it. There’s a dusting of glitter on the paper too, shimmering under the hallway lights.

“Oooh, what’d’ya bring?” Chloe asks right as Sam says, “No, don’t ask!”

“I like her,” he says, pointing at Chloe. “It’s lingerie.”

Chloe’s eyes get big. “That’s part of the plan?”

Sam turns to Joan, “I gave her the broad strokes. It only seemed right if she was going to host.”

“Nope,” Damien says to Chloe, “they’re for Lantern B over there.” He gestures to her with a swing of his hips.

Chloe’s head swivels towards Joan, eyebrows raising in question.

Sam stage whispers to Chloe, “They’re dating.”

Chloe’s head swivels between Joan and Damien quickly.

Joan glares at Damien. “Is now really the time to be continuing these unwanted gifts?”

“Hey, now, I’m not giving you anything you _don’t_ want. Have any of them been bad? Only the best for my girl.”

Chloe watches the two of them with avid fascination.

Joan hastily takes the gift-wrapped box.

“Open it, Lantern Bright!” Chloe urges.

Damien smirks.

“Later,” Joan says. She hears Damien snicker, as she tucks it under arm armpit.

“I can show you to your room,” Chloe says, “You can put it away there.”

As they walk through the carpeted house, Joan thanks her.

“I have to admit, I was surprised when Sam told me,” Chloe notes, “but I’m always happy to help.”

“You sound like your mother.”

Chloe grins. “I’m going to be a witch as amazing as her one day.”

Chloe opens the guest room, the doors beautifully varnished wood, a deeper shade than the floor. Vanessa always was good at decorating spaces. The lighting is inviting, and a copper bird with an airplant for its tail hangs from the ceiling, throwing rainbows around the room. The full size bed is made up with a diamond patterned quilt, blankets and towels folded at the foot. Joan sets the package under the burgundy pillows and her overnight bag against the nightstand.

“You already are,” Joan reminds her. Chloe didn’t have to prove anything, as she kept reminding her. “But I am curious, why are you helping us?”

The doorbell rings.

“I wasn’t aware we were waiting for anyone else,” Joan says, looking towards the door.

Chloe smiles. “Let’s go see then.”

When they return to the entryway, Caleb’s taking his coat off. College athletics was treating him well, he’d put on some weight, and his face was starting to lose the last of its baby fat.

“Caleb,” Joan says in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Chloe said you were in trouble, so I came.” His voice was settling as well. Goodness, boys grew like weeds.

“So I came too!” another voice says.

Stepping around Caleb is another boy. Black skinny jeans and oxfords that had been well-cared for. His maroon button-up is nicely pressed, and the large anorak coat made him look even smaller compared to Caleb.

“You must be Adam. I’ve heard so much about you.” She quickly steps towards him, hand extended. If Caleb looked of pure adoration hadn’t tipped her off, it was the deep color of his skin; she’d listened to Caleb wax poetic about it a number of times.

Caleb had been one of Joan’s wards before leaving for college. A born wolf, puberty had left his senses in disarray and his instincts difficult to manage. In particular, his sense of smell was extremely acute, allowing him to discern people’s moods. A common topic of their sessions had been Adam.

“And you must be Dr. Bright. He’s said nothing but great things about you.” His handshake was firm, and he hadn’t tried to call her Joan. A nice young man, then.

As Adam hangs up his coat on the quickly filling coat rack, Joan turns back to Chloe.

Joan whispers, “You brought _Caleb _and_ Adam_ into this?”

“We need them for this to work,” Chloe insists. “Besides, we care about you.”

“That’s right,” Caleb pipes in. She’d forgotten as a wolf his hearing was still better than normal. “Can I give you a hug? You look like you need it.”

“Alright.”

“It’s good to see you Dr. Bright, even if the circumstances are weird,” Caleb says as he squeezes her tightly.

“Good thing the timing worked out so we were here on break,” Adam notes.

After they part, Chloe starts chatting with the two boys, and Joan sidles towards Damien lurking by the kitchen.

“You weren’t jealous of Caleb hugging me?” she asks him.

“Nah,” Damien replies, putting his hand on her hip and pulling her close. “He’s already mated.” He tips his head over at Adam, who’s unwinding his red knit scarf and watching Chloe try to lift Caleb with amusement.

“You can tell that with your ability?”

“Yup. Real difficult to feed from a mated wolf. Even in dreams, they know you’re not their mate, and they get all growly and offended that you even tried.” He rubs the inside of his ear in irritation.

“What’s it feel like?” she asks curiously.

He stares at the two boys intently, like he’s seeing something she can’t. “Like all his want is focused on one person, so there’s nothing to manipulate. Can’t say I blame him, I’m pretty set myself.” He gazes down at her.

“Seriously?”

He rolls his eyes. “What part of serious do you not understand? I told you your hang ups were workable, our chemistry’s good, and we like each other’s company. What more do you want?”

Joan’s not sure what to say in reply, but from the corner of her eye, she sees Caleb’s body grow rigid, his nostrils flaring.

“We’ll talk later,” she apologizes.

He sighs and smacks her butt. “You can make it up to me by modeling that lingerie after all the kiddos are sleeping. Now go save the world or whatever.”

As Joan strides towards Caleb, his brow furrows in concern.

“Something smells wrong here,” he says.

He moves resolutely through the house, Chloe, Adam, and Joan following him. He opens the patio door where Sam’s talking to Frank, who looks more concerned with the moths flying around.

Upon seeing Caleb though, Frank’s ears lay flat and he growls.

Caleb growls back, but Adam takes his hand. “Focus on my smell,” Adam says.

Chloe darts towards Frank, laying her hand upon his head, calming his growl as well, although his tail doesn’t resume wagging.

Once Caleb has calmed down, he kisses Adam quickly. “Thanks,” he says a bit ruefully. “One of these days I’ll get better at it.”

To Frank, he says. “Shit man, I’m sorry, it was instinct, and I’m still getting the hang of it. I didn’t realize this was your territory.” He lifts his hands and tips his head back.

Frank’s ears perk back up and he barks twice.

“Chloe,” he says, “do you know...”

“Yeah.” Chloe frowns. “I know he’s stuck in wolf form. I’m working on it. I can’t tell if it’s a side-effect of him being a man-made werewolf or being cursed.”

“There’s not a difference! There’re some things people shouldn’t do, and that’s one of them, for precisely this reason!”

Adam places a hand on Caleb’s elbow. Caleb takes a deep breathe, and Joan recognizes it as one of the techniques she’d taught him.

“Do you know if there’s a way for him to turn back?” Chloe asks. “I haven’t had a chance to ask the local pack. They can be… particular about how they treat man-made wolves.”

“No kidding,” Caleb says. Looking back at Adam, he explains, “They have a shoot first policy because they tend to go feral. Too much wolf not enough man left in them.” Returning his gaze to Chloe, he says, “Beacons are supposed to be able to weaken the curse, otherwise you’re going to need a cursebreaker.”

“The coven’s already tried to channel their work through a cursebreaker and it didn’t work.”

“That’s why you want to help us,” Joan says in surprise. “You’re hoping Mark can lift it.”

Chloe smiles nervously, and Frank licks her hand. “Well, I’d help anyway, for you, for anyone the Association is holding captive. But yes, for Frank too.”

Joan’s flipping through all her knowledge of man-made shifters, people who were cursed to change shape. “I wasn’t aware communication was possible for cursed shifters.”

Chloe looks down at Frank sadly. “He’s more animal than human at this point, and I can talk to him through that.”

“But you can’t with born shifters?”

“No,” Caleb says. “Our animal is different, we’re direct descendants of Anubis, or Fenrir, or whatever deity your clan believes in.”

“Of divine versus mortal descent,” Sam muses.

Caleb nods.

“Okay,” Sam hazards. “Now that we all know each other, how about dinner?”

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, “let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

* * *

At the large round table next to the kitchen, Damien already has a brightly colored bowl made up for himself and Joan. And he’s already eating. He mumbles something with his mouth full.

“You couldn’t wait?” Joan asks.

He swallows and points his chip at her. “I’m a growing boy. You of all people should be familiar with that,” he pouts.

“Just don’t eat my share.”

She checks on the food on the marble counter, just to make sure he hadn’t done something stupid like put sugar out instead of salt. Luckily, the crockpot is on keep-warm, the lid’s there, and the sour cream, cheese, and chips look just as it should.

The gang descends upon it happily, with Sam waiting for the frenzy to die down before getting her bowl.

There’s a wistful look on Sam’s face, the kids elbowing their way in, joking and insulting each other, but still handing one another the bowls and trying to scoop each other food.

When they were still Lightkeeper and ward, Joan would have made a comment about how the only way Sam wouldn’t be on the outside was to just to dive in and get messy. But maybe Joan didn’t need to meddle so much; Sam had Mark now. Best to address another issue she’d been meaning to instead.

Stepping closer to Sam, she bumps her shoulder against hers. Sam looks down at her, fiddling with the end of her ponytail and bumps her back.

“Sam,” Joan begins. “Thank you for organizing this. I know my reaction to seeing all of you wasn’t the most graceful, but it’s…humbling to see that all of you are here. Thank you.” She’s working up the nerve to tell her how valuable and important their friendship is, but then Chloe places a checkered bowl into Sam’s hands. She and Caleb herd them back to the table.

Covens tended to have potlucks after their meetings, so Joan isn’t surprised the table had enough space to seat them all comfortably and then some.

They dig in, Damien’s large bowl making sense as he continues to scoop it into Joan’s. He even loads his chips up and feeds her, although she tries to beat him off of her, because she isn’t comfortable doing this in front of the kids. But he doesn’t seem to care at all, and the kids are too focused on food to comment.

“This food is really good!” Chloe says through a mouthful of chips and chili. “You should keep him, Joan!”

Never mind.

Damien preens, a smile splitting his face open as he leans back and puts his arm over the back of Joan’s chair. “Thanks.” He quickly sucks his spoon clean then points it at her. “And finish your food first.”

Joan shoots him a surprise glance; he’s never been concerned about swallowing his food before talking about how she should be eating more.

“I have a little sister,” is all he says.

“You mentioned you had a cousin, not a sister.”

“Oh, right. Same thing.”

“…Are you going to tell me more?” she raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, you wanna know?”

“Yes. Haven’t you been trying to convince me to care about you and not just your...?” She motions at his crotch.

“Uh, right. So, I showed up on Ma Atkinson’s doorstep one day and decided not to leave. So that makes her kids my younger siblings, yeah? I just don’t look much like them so I just tell people I’m their cousin.”

“How interesting. When am I going to meet her? Surely she has all the blackmail on you.”

Damien blinks. “You wanna meet her?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Uh, no reason. Rose’s been asking me when she was gonna meet you.”

“Alright then. When this is all done, I’d love to meet her.”

Damien’s sits up straight, clearly trying not to smile like an idiot. He hides it by pulling her hair aside and nuzzling her neck. It’s nice, and if they were alone she might indulge him further. It was always appealing when she found these softer spots of his, in this case, evidenced by him not licking up and down her neck.

Still, her thoughts veer towards the promise she made. It’s easy to promise things when she isn’t sure if she’ll made it out of the Keep intact.

Steering away from questions it’d do no good to ponder, Joan turns back to the rest of the table.

“So, I heard there’s a plan?” Adam asks.

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Chloe squeals.

And Sam outlines her plan.

* * *

By the time Sam finishes explaining and answering questions, night has fallen, and the chili’s gone. The only bowl left is the one they saved for Vanessa, safely ensconced in the fridge and labeled with her name. Chloe said her mother would likely eat it for a midnight snack once she was down working in her studio.

Then she’d gone and corralled everyone into the living room where they rolled out their sleeping bags, and Chloe tried to convince them to build a sheet fort over them.

Damien is more clingy than normal. He’d played footsie with her the whole time at dinner, and when he wasn’t using his hands to feed her, he was rubbing her thigh. She’d had to practically toss him off her to help clear the plates, and he’d sniffed and sulked away.

Caleb was gathering up the bowls from the table and rinsing them in the sink. Joan helps him bus the dishes and places them into the dishwasher once he’s done rinsing them.

“Why aren’t you in the living room with the others?”

Caleb scrubs out the remnants of hardened cheese. “I want Chloe to be Adam’s friend too, not just my-friend-because-she’s-friends-with-my-boyfriend-friend.”

“Ah, I see. Dishwasher’s full.” There’d already been some pots and platters in the washer to begin with.

“’S fine,” he shrugs. “I can wash the rest by hand.” It’s still a decent amount to do by hand. She starts the machine and then grabs a dishtowel to help Caleb dry the dishes.

“This isn’t how I planned our meeting going later this week,” she notes. She hadn’t canceled it, for fear of raising the Association’s suspicions. Sarah would’ve noticed and likely arranged a “get better” floral bouquet signed by the other Lightkeepers.

Passing her a cup full of spoons he says, “Well, it’s kinda nice to help _you_ for a change.”

“I… I have to admit that’s difficult for me.”

“I’m not your ward anymore,” he gently reminds her.

“Yes, but you remind me of my brother.”

He looks at her, nostrils flaring. Smelling her feelings most likely.

“The same brother we’re breaking out of the Association?”

“Yes, he was… _is_ just as well-meaning in love. Speaking of, have you told Adam that you’re mates yet?”

Caleb was considered especially lucky by his family and packmates to have found his mate so young. But Caleb hadn’t told Adam, and they’d often talked about his reasons why since his packmates thought it silly and were well-prepared to welcome to Adam into the pack with a celebration certain to last for days.

Caleb kicks his heels together, taps his toes against the mat cushioning the floor in front of the sink. He keeps turning the now-clean bowl in his hands.

“Nah, it’s just… a lot to dump on someone, you know? We’re just figuring out dating now that we’re not at the same school anymore. And college is about trying different things, like you told me. So it’s hard to tell someone ‘Surprise! I’m yours for life!’ It’s not like he asked for me.”

“Some people find that kind of security soothing, not stifling.”

“I can smell how he feels Lantern Bright, and…” his voice tapers off, and he looks wistfully at the blanket fort being erected. Adam is helping Chloe anchor it while Sam pets Frank. “You know, I can smell how nervous you are despite trying to hide it.”

She wants to tell him that that’s a decision for Adam to make, but she lets him change the topic. Giving a rueful smile, she replies, “You can call me Joan, Caleb. As you said, you’re not my ward anymore, and since you’re helping me with an illegal project of great personal importance to me, you ought to.”

“Alright, Lantern Bri… I mean, Joan.”

* * *

Done with the dishes, Caleb heads into the living room. Joan suspects the kids will be laughing and gossiping late into the night, but she’s ready for bed. She grabs her toiletry bag from her bedroom and a washcloth.

The hallway bathroom door is open, and Joan can see Sam brushing her teeth in the mirror’s reflection. Joan takes the second sink, and lays out her toiletries.

As she sets the toothbrush between the floss and toothpaste, she says, “Sam, you are my best friend.”

Sam startles, spits out her toothpaste, and turns to look at Joan. “What?”

Joan measures out her floss and winds it around her index finger. “I overheard you and Damien earlier, and I wanted to let you know. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clearer to you, you’ve been nothing but...”

Sam takes her into a warm hug. Joan doesn’t know what to do with her hands at first, and settles for putting them on her back, never mind the floss dangling from them.

They linger there, holding one another, until Sam pulls back with watery eyes.

“Thanks, it means a lot to me… Joan.”

Joan takes Sam’s empty hand with hers and replies, “We’ll get Mark back, and then you can call me sister too.”

* * *

Once she’s done washing up, Joan only has one errand left. She makes a quick stop in her room and then goes to find Damien.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien is hungry, Joan obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 9, “You shouldn’t have come here.”
> 
> Inspiration for Joan's [lingerie](https://www.fashiontofigure.com/plus-size-alexia-lace-lingerie-bodysuit/A-prod14700025/%22).

Joan steps out of her room, quietly pulling the door shut behind her. She wraps her coat snugly around herself with one hand and holds a pair of glossy red high heels in the other. She isn’t sure where Damien is exactly, but there’s a pull she can feel. When she reaches down for her magic and touches it, she can feel it reverberating towards Damien. She’ll examine how she feels about being attuned to him later; right now, it’s useful.

Walking down the hallway with its lights dimmed down for night, she passes Chloe’s room where Sam sleeps, surely dreaming of Mark.

She arrives at a plain mahogany door, far away from the puppy pile of kids in the living room. Joan’s passingly familiar with Vanessa’s home, and it seems Damien has warranted a small guest room.

Setting her heels down, she slips them on, checks her coat one last time, and knocks.

She hears a grumble that sounds suspiciously like, “Go away.” Which is unlike Damien, so she jostles the doorknob. It’s unlocked, and it’s not like he hasn’t encroached on her spaces, so she steps inside, closing the door behind her.

The room is dark, a small lamp on the nightstand casting dim light. Damien’s lying on top of the sheets, fully clothed except for his shoes and staring at the ceiling.

They stay like this for a long breathe, Joan just inside of the room, and Damien on the bed, looking like some kind of vampire in repose.

He turns his head towards her. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a tone in his voice she hasn’t heard before. Not lazy or taunting. Resigned?

She speaks into the quiet, “Do I need a reason to visit you?”

“_Lantern_ Joan,” he says, voice low, spinning her name out like hot sugar. “You only ever come to me when you need something, and you already have my help. Why are you here?”

Damien being direct without sex on the table. Odd. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only person she needed to … (She cuts that thought off, there’ll be time enough for feelings later.)

“To see you,” she says simply.

He rolls over, turns the lamp on to a brighter setting, then lies back down. It’s a shock to her eyes, but as she blinks, he comes into focus. There are circles under his eyes, he’s paler than usual, and his expression is pinched. He hadn’t looked like this at dinner.

Her heels click on the hardwood floor, eventually muffling as she reaches the woven navy rug beneath the bed. “What’s wrong?” she asks looking down at him, reaching for his face.

He grabs her wrist, and she expects him to pull her roughly down. Instead, he noses at her pulse, breathing her in in as if she’d dotted perfume there.

“You weren’t this… touchy earlier.”

“No,” he breathes against her skin. His thumbs press into her wrist, too uncoordinated to be kneading. “Ruins the image. Besides, it’s not like you’d want me to eat you out under the dinner table with all your wards there.”

Sucking her index finger into his mouth, his tongue winds around her, paying special attention to each joint. After his lips reach her knuckle, he releases her with a final lick.

Fascination wins over asking him to perform oral sex on her now though. “No, I wouldn’t. This is still unusual for you.”

He starts nibbling up her wrist again, likely trying to leave hickies. “I haven’t eaten,” he said.

The pieces start to form a picture. “How often do you need to feed?”

“At least one good orgasm a week, but that’s like being on a liquid diet.”

She quickly does the math. With the date Sam interrupted, it’s been a week and odd change since they’d last had sex.

“You aren’t feeding from other people?” she says surprised.

“Are you saying you’re okay with me having sex, even dream sex, with other people?”

“I was prepared for it. I know what you are. I’m not going to deny you your nature.” She’d prefer to have this conversation while looking at his face, but he rubs his cheek against her, rough from his 5 o’clock shadow.

“But is that what you want?” he insists, his magic pressing on her. As if he was trying to shape her desires here as easily as he did in her dreams.

“No,” she admits. She quickly added, “If you’ve been… monogamous, how have you been living on a liquid diet? Our dates weren’t more than once a week,” she says with some horror. She likes to get a raise out of him, but she’d no plans for him to deny his nature.

She feels his smirk against her palm. “Most people yeah, but _you_ are a whole meal.” Smugness in his voice, peaking through whatever mood he’s in. What did he know that she didn’t?

“But if you wanna make it up to me,” he continues, “you’re more than welcome to. But Lantern B, I gotta warn you I am _very_ hungry.”

His grip tightens, and he pulls her down. Her breasts press against his chest, but the angle’s off. Her legs hang off the side of the bed and the weight of them leaves her unbalanced. She shimmies onto the bed, his erection nudging her hip.

He leans up on his forearms to mouth at her neck. If he’s trying to be sexy, it’s not working. He seems needy more than anything. Like with her wrist, he’s trying to pull something out of her, but if he wants to feed from her desire, he’s going to have to do more than mouth at her like a toddler.

His hand slides up the bottom of her coat, but he pulls back suddenly. Surprise is clearly on his face.

“Are you not wearing anything under that?”

“Did you really think I was wearing a coat around the house without pants?”

“I thought you were wearing pajama shorts,” he says dazed. Sliding off him (his groan is satisfying), she steps back onto her feet, standing straight.

She begins unbuttoning the coat, making sure not to show what she was (or wasn’t) wearing under it. This kind of pageantry really isn’t her thing, but she’s certain it’s Damien’s. With the buttons undone, she shrugs herself out of it. For a brief moment, she contemplates folding the coat over her arm, but decides to let it fall to the floor instead.

Damien’s eyes and tongue fall out his head.

“_Holy shit_, you’re really wearing it.” 

Of course his  moodiness  would lift as soon as he  saw her in lingerie  and red heels . 

The red wrapped box he’d given her earlier in the day was full of lingerie. The leopard print thong, crotchless undies, and gauzy teddy were the kinds of things she’d expected, and while a bit tacky, they were well-made. But there’d been more practical cuts too, ranging from her preferred coverage to cheeky.

The finer lingerie impressed her though. A matching satin chemise and shorts that had been cool to the touch, a burgundy silk slip with a black lace lined v-neck and a hem that hit her mid-thigh. But tonight, she’d needed something with panache, so she’d gone with the bodysuit.

Unlike the one from her dreams with its uncomfortable underwire, this one is unlined. It’s actually comfortable, if one didn’t mind the translucent black fabric. The neck line plunges to her belly button and alençon lace covers the front of her breasts, leaving the sides of them bare. At the waistband, the lace gives way to mesh across her hips, and chantilly lace over her mons and rear.

It’s cold standing there in the bodysuit, but rubbing her arms would ruin the effect. Besides, hard nipples complete the look.

“What did you hope I’d do with it?” she says.

“Jerk off in it while thinking of me,” he says easily. His eyes keep going up and down her body, his hands clenching and releasing on his thighs. “But this is way better. God bless me for picking that out. And you deserve some good blessings too. Treat yourself and all that.”

He pushes himself up until he’s sitting, then turns the lamp to its highest setting. He licks his lips like she’s the molten lava cake at Sharif’s, eyeing her like she’s the best damn thing he’s seen. And given what he must’ve seen through other people’s dreams, she’s pleased.

“ We  a re about to storm the Association tomorrow, and who knows what will happen after that,” she replies.

He slides off the bed, stepping into her space. Hands slide under the bodysuit’s seams, cupping her ass. The dig of his fingertips, pull her up to her tiptoes. He nuzzles her hair as he pets the fabric across her hips. She shivers.

Using his tongue piercing, he caresses the shell of her ear. He murmurs, “So this is we-might-die sex?”

“Something like that. I don’t know what will happen, but even if it all goes to shit, I ...” she takes a steadying breath. “I deserve good things, even if it only lasts a little while.”

“I’ll take that. And I’ll last more than a little while.”

Then he just stares at her some more, which while still flattering, isn’t getting them anywhere. And Joan’s too old to fuck until the sun comes up, especially when tomorrow is such an important day.

So she traces the top of her breast lightly, her nipples hardening. 

“Jesus, Joan,” he groans. “Please, fuck, let me take this off of you.” His hands cup her shoulders, sliding the straps off as his fingertips lightly trace her arms. He presses his mouth to where the straps have left slight indents.

His hunger makes it difficult for him to do more than feel her up and beg. His pleas quickly devolve into just _Please? Joan? Please? _as he noses and nips at her shoulder. So she takes matters into his own hands, pulling his face up for a kiss. She nibbles her way to his mouth, and he whimpers, kneading her ass and worrying the lace.

Needing him to focus, she lets a whisper of her magic out. His magic vibrates like water during an earthquake. His hands tighten again, and he pulls her closer, the kiss becoming more focused. He spins her around, and pushes her onto the bed, his knee between her thighs. At last, his magic reaches for hers, and Joan wants to let herself go under with him, but...

She withdraws her magic. And if anything, he kisses her all the harder, as if searching for the taste of it again. When he realizes there’s no more, his teeth drag down her jawbone.

“You shouldn’t be here, Joan,” he says against her collarbone. He makes to chew on it, but instead laves the top of her breasts. Her back arches as he begins leaving a trail of love marks.

She grabs his erection through his jeans, and he fists his hands in the comforter. “You seem pretty pleased.”

“Joan, I’m _very_ hungry, and I’m not gonna be satisfied with some groping and making out.”

“I’m an adult, Damien, I know what it means to spend the night with someone.” She reaches for the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah, but you’ve never been with a starving incubus. Unless you wanna be fucked until sun up, you should go.”

“Damien, you’re not usually this dense. What part of showing up in your bedroom in lingerie and heels says I’m uninterested?”

“Alright,” he breathes, “lady’s choice it is. No take backs.” But it sounds more like he’s hoping she won’t regret this.

He grabs her by the waist and shifts her up the bed. Once she’s spread across it (the mattress firm enough to press into without her wrists hurting, but soft enough she doesn’t want to move from its comfort), he comes up to his knees and grabs the bottom of his shirt. Joan rubs light circles around her clit, admiring the soft curve of his belly and the spark in his eyes.

“Oh no,” Damien says. “That won’t do.”

Abandoning his plans to take his shirt off, he leans in and bats her fingers out his way. He licks a slow stripe on the outside of the lace, then tugs it aside. He inhales the scent of her pussy, and she wiggles her hips hurrying him on. He licks at her opening, pushing his tongue in then licking up and up, but not reaching her clit. She grasps his hair and pulls him closer.

Instead he looks up at her.

“You’re pretty wet. It was the magic wasn’t it? Admit it, it makes you hot.” He rubs her wet entrance with his knuckles.

“Damien, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to _do _anything?”

“Fine, fine.”

He unzips his pants and takes out his erection. As he grips himself, he asks, “You mean what you said about me nutting in you before?”

“That’s not what I would call it, but yes.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” He closes his eyes, presses his forehead to hers, then kisses her. His lips are already swollen from kissing her earlier, and Joan nibbles his bottom lip.

His body weight falls against her, and he rubs against her pubic bone. She meets his thrusts, enjoying the weight of his body and the feel of his hands over satin and lace. She thinks about closing her thighs around his hips, and lacing her ankles behind his back, but she doesn’t know where his jeans have been or the last time they were washed. So she meet his thrusts by pushes against the mattress with her feet.

Eventually, she wants her clit to be bumping something other than air.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Jesus, you’re bossy.”

“You like me that way.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Fuck me, Damien.”

He positions himself, rubbing against her clit on the way towards her opening. He notices the cant of her hips and rubs the head of his cock against her clit, then her labia, and at last her cunt.

She’s not embarrassed by the noises she makes as he teases her, pushing closer and closer, but not giving her what she’s after. His impatience wins, of course, and he pushes all the way inside of her.

He groans, she sighs.

Taking him in is easy, she’s wet, more than willing, and has been using a dildo lately. But flesh is different and she reminds herself not to tense up.

Damien shudders, thrusts again. Then says in panic, “Oh, shit, _fuck_.”

J oan looks down wondering what’s happening, but then she feels the uncoordinated  stutter of his hips and watches his face contort as he comes inside of her.

Even after the moment’s gone, he’s still holding himself over her. He eventually opens his eyes, looking like a kid caught with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar.

Joan laughs, and Damien looks at her like she’s lost her damn mind. But she can’t stop laughing. Damien No Last Name, sex demon, who’d seduced his way into her life with a finesse and cunning she admired, had come immediately. She wisely says none of it out loud.

Eventually Damien looks tentatively pleased, and his lips have a small quirk.

“I’ve never seen you laugh like that,” he says, still a bit confused.

S he loops her arm across his shoulder, pulls him down onto her. “Oh, I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.” It was hard, when her life was so carefully focused  (empty) . Mark  could get  her to laugh like this , but it was good to share this with someone else again.

His face gets smug, and he wriggles closer to her. “Good.”

He doesn’t know why she’s so happy; he’s just thrilled to have been the one to make her laugh like that.

Once she catches her breath again, she murmurs. “I still have plans for you.”

“Oh?” he breathes against her breast. He seemed to love putting his face there.

She flips them so she’s on top of him.

“Hell yeah,” he says.

And as she starts crawling down his body, he takes his shirt off and tosses it aside. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he merely shrugs and says he wants to feel her hair. She presses a quick kiss to the underside of his ribs, and continues her journey.

As she keeps going further down him, he says, “Oh no, shit, I mean, yes.”

Giving oral sex isn’t Joan’s preferred go-to. Her gag reflex is strong and she has to concentrate on relaxing and remembering this was supposed to be fun and not a task to conquer. She hopes that being a young, male incubus will make his refraction period short.

She pulls down his jeans from where they’re bunched at his thighs. He unhelpfully kicks them off, giving her a face full of his pants.

“Oops.”

But Joan is not to be deterred. She came here for a reason damn it. She balls up his jeans and pulls his briefs down as well.

He isn’t the most well-endowed man she’d slept with, but his cock has plenty of promise. Even half-hard it has good girth, and the head nicely flushed underneath the remaining come.

Grabbing the base of his shaft, she gives him a few experimental pumps, familiarizing herself with his feel. It gives a feeble twitch beneath her. She’d missed these things about sleeping with a man, the feverish heat, the helpless leak of precum, how easily they acquiesced once she had her hands on them.

She swipes the cum off his cock, then wipes it on his thigh. Steeling herself, she presses her nose against his balls, ignoring the short crop of hair tickling her, and breathes. She’s pleasantly surprised he’s cleanly, smelling mostly of the laundry from his briefs and the salt and tang typical of bodies. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all.

“C’mon, Joan,” he groans, twitching again.

Right, well, time to do it, not just try. She takes his cock in her mouth in one go, seeing how far she can take him.

His thighs clench beneath her, and he yells, “Christ!”

She easily fits her fist below her mouth, but he still bumps the back of her palate. She’ll have to work her way towards taking more. She begins to pull back, but then his hands are on the back of her head, pushing her back down.

She panics, but tries to relax her throat. Even with him half-hard, his cock head starts pushing further and further back.

_Breathe_ , she thinks to herself.

He thrusts his hips up, and it’s too much for her, she feels her body rebelling, gorge rising. And damn it, she is not going to wash _vomit_ out of Vanessa’s sheets.

S he scrapes her teeth against him in warning,  but  D amien’s grip on her hair tightens instead.

“Ugh, fuck, Joan,” he says instead. So much for it being a threat.

Desperate, she relaxes her hold on her magic, hoping it’ll pacify Damien and he won’t test her gag reflex anymore. She’s surprised when Damien’s magic reaches for her and it’s not a dizzying rush. Instead, it’s a slow thrum winding through her, a low level hum in her muscles. As it spreads, it’s like slipping into a hot bath, her muscles relaxing one by one. Her bathtub, though, didn’t make her clit tingle like this.

Surprised she’s not struggling with choking anymore, she swallows, and is shocked how much more of him she takes into her throat.

“That’s it,” he sighs, “take my dick.”

She pulls back. “What did you do?”

He smirks. “Just my God given talent.”

She sucks his head, then releases it with a pop. “Tell me.”

He huffs. “It’s my magic. I can’t push you the way I used to, but my magic is still based in desire. So, I can make things more appealing.”

A shiver of sparks runs down her spine, congregating against her anus. She gasps, then glares at him. If he came quickly from her pussy, he’d never last in her ass tonight.

“And who doesn’t want their dick sucked?” he continues.

She might not have sex magic like him, but she could still wipe that smug look off his face.

She teases his shaft with her tongue, circling the underside of his head. But she quickly changes directions, sucking one of his balls instead. Massaging the other ball with her hand, she reaches for his thigh with her free hand. She needs something solid to anchor herself with, the soft give of his thigh, the slight scrape of hair beneath her palm.

His hand snakes down to grip his dick, but she smacks his hand away, and nips him.

Looking up at him from her eyelashes, she sees he’s hard again, but she doesn’t let him go just yet. She’s impressed with her newfound ability to give fellatio without gagging, even if it was with Damien’s magic aiding her. She wonders why he didn’t use it when he’d been fingering her ass before.

She switches to his other ball, sucking hard. Damien’s magic starts rubbing against her own, like fur against her skin, reminding her of what he could feel like inside of her.

Pulling her hair to one side, she tells him no.

“C’mon, Joan,” he groans. “Let me be better. I should last now that I’ve gotten my nerves worked out. I’ll prove I can be good to you.” His magic continues pumping through her body, enticing her.

“I told you I can’t,” she replies in frustration, sitting up on his thighs.

“What’ll it hurt, Little Miss Lantern? Surely you have enough control and restraint not to take too much. You can’t have had sex while letting your magic out to play before, you were too worried about being found out. But you don’t need to worry with me.”

His magic pushes towards her, and being able to let go like this is so tempting. But that kind of magic display would easily be sensed by anyone magical in the house, and that holds no appeal to her at all.

“Wanna know why Vanessa stuck me here?” he whispers.

“Why?”

“It’s the smallest bedroom in the house which means it’s also the easiest to ward, especially since it’s next to her work room.”

On the one hand, Joan’s a bit annoyed someone else had anticipated this, but it’s also not far-fetched Vanessa would’ve taken precautions the moment she saw an incubus in her house. Wards aren’t Joan’s specialty, but when she flicks her power at the walls, she senses them taking her magic in instead of letting it flow through the reset of the house. She supposes if this is Vanessa’s tacit approval of having fun, she shouldn’t feel guilty.

Sensing her weakening hesitation, he coaxes her.  “ I promise you’ll love it. That shit we’ve done before? Child’s play.  I promise,  this will be  the best sex of your life . ”

Joan isn’t sure if this is stupid male bravado, or if he really can deliver on being  a sex demon in person.

Seeing the scrunched up look on her face,  he continues. “ I’ve promised to do all sorts of things if you let me put my cock in you, and if I don’t live up to your expectations, you can punish me.” He  bats his eyelashes. 

T he man is utterly ridiculou s,  and she can’t believe she’s fucking him.  B ut relationships  _have_ been built on far less, and  his willing ness to be under her thumb  _and_ rescue Mark  ha s its own appeal.

“You can start by undressing me,” she concedes. “We’re going to do this right. Naked, not half-dressed.”

His eyes light up, more eager than lecherous.

“Yes, ma’am.”

For all the front he put on, being the bad boy of her literal dreams, she knows that’s not all he is. He was at turns infuriating, arrogant, and stupidly appealing. But he’d made it clear, all he wanted was… her. He wasn’t even that interested in her magic, other than it’s sexual uses. Joan can’t remember a time she’d been someone she wasn’t lying to. Owen had been sweet, but she’d always known he was too loyal to the Association to ever let him fully into her life.

Damien jostles Joan as he sits up, and she struggles to find her balance. He settles her firmly on his lap, his cock nudging her belly. His feverish hands run up her ass and tug on the bodysuit’s criss-crossing straps in the back. Although he’d taken the shoulder straps down, the suit was well-made and still covered her.

Slipping his fingers beneath the satin hem again, he wanders past her tailbone and towards her anus.

“No,” she says, redirecting his hand to her shoulder. “You made promises about my vagina, not my ass. Take my bodysuit off, please.”

He huffs, but obeys. He reaches for the bunched lace above her breasts and pulls it down. She can see him salivating over the sight of her naked breasts. He traces patterns over them, and follows their trail with his mouth, his tongue piercing an odd delight.

“That’s good,” she breathes. “You can suck my nipples.”

She feels him smile against her, but he noses at her underarm instead, surprising her. He smells her here, and she stifles a laugh at his breath tickling her.

He lets out a puff, and a giggle escapes her. She lifts her arm, his stubble scraping against her before letting out another huff.

“I wanna hear all of that, the moans, and sobs, because that’s how good I am. Say you will, and then I’ll suck your nipples.”

He lightly touches her ribs through the lace, so close to her heavy breasts. She wants to tell him _no_… But since Vanessa’s already meddling with magic-proofing the room, she would likely have sound-warded it too. ...A little noise wouldn’t be too bad. She is not, however, going to remotely risk being heard by the kids in the living room. So not _obscenely_ loud, but Damien doesn’t need to know that.

“Damien, you’re only going to find out how loud I can get if we actually fuck.”

Damien  face settles back into familiar territory, focused  on her and her dare . 

S he starts to peel off more of the lingerie, but Damien pouts. 

“I wanted to do that.”

“You took too long.” She stalls, moving her hips back and forth as the bodysuits bunches across her hipbones. She wonders if he’ll take the hint.

He does, and he helps her clamber out of it, leaving her as naked as he is.  It’s not as graceful as she’d hoped, wanting to make a show of it earlier, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

Even though the lingerie could hardly be called clothing, she still feels cold without it. But the room is warm with their heat (a side-effect of the warding), and with Damien licking his lips, she knows he’ll keep her warm and then some.

As he l ook s up at her, the sulking and arrogance  is  all curiously absent.  His face is  considering , like he sees past her own  bravado , that she’s scared of what will happen if she fails, how she  hides behind pragmatism . 

So she shoves him back onto the bed, hard enough for him to lose his breath. She climbs up him, positioning herself, as she starts to pull her hair back.

“No, Joanie,” he says voice low and rough, “leave it down.”

Thinking of how he’d pulled it in the library, she’s confused why he’d decline. But she lets the thought go, when she sees his hand start to move. _At last_, she thinks. He’ll grab himself and push himself so deep inside of her, she won’t be able to remember how afraid she is.

But he doesn’t tease her with his cock, even though they’re so close, she can feel the brush of his body hair. Instead, his hand reaches up, cups her cheek. She looks at it for a moment, then back at him, and he’s looking _right at her_ and something deep inside her licks up her stomach, scorches her ribs, and uncomfortably lodges in her throat.

(Sentiment? Tears? She doesn’t cry during sex.

( But o h, how hungry she’s been, so used to going without.  A nd there Damien was, indolent and redolent in everything she’d denied herself.  How wonderful, how marvelous it would be to let herself be lost drinking  down his power. If they both gave into their natures, would they feed off one another in one long loop of pleasure? )

She lets her hair tumble down, and she reaches down for his dick. Enough with the foreplay. Holding him in place, she slides onto him in one go.

She bites her lip. It’s more uncomfortable in this position, but Damien’s already jostling against her. His hips move back and forth, trying to tame his impulse to jackhammer into her. While she normally appreciated restraint, tonight she needed him to fuck her until she couldn’t think.

His face screws up yet again, as he mutters, “Oh, Jesus, you’re wet.”

She grinds against him, then pauses with raised eyebrow. Just like she hoped, his hands hold her hips as he picks up a faster pace. Perfect.

Their flesh slaps together, and Joan tosses her head back. There’s a sheen of sweat across Damien’s skin, almost looks like he’s glowing in the light. Joan presses her hands into his belly, feeling the clench and pull as he thrusts into her.

Then she closes her eyes, focusing on the sensations instead. The smell of their bodies, how his thighs are starting to feel slippery from their efforts. Without protection, he’s hot and insistent inside her, making her all the wetter. The feeling in her stomach, not orgasm, but something else, something electric against her and if she reaches out to it, she could be _lightning_.

Her eyes open, and before she can say no, Damien’s begging.

“C’mon, baby, please. Joan, please, I’m so hungry.”

“Shouldn’t you be focused on making me feel good so you can be better fed?” She means to sound assertive, but her breath stutters when he pulll out, worried he’ll stop.

He adjusts his angle, and pushes back in, putting more pressure on her G-spot. She gasps, sinking back onto his dick.

“Yeah, yeah, do that. You love this dick don’t you?”

She wouldn’t usually say this, but, “Yes, yes I do, now are you going to make me come or not?”

He licks his fingertips and plays with her nipples. “Your satisfaction is good, but taking from your magic is different, more potent. And don’t you want me at my strongest tomorrow?”

A couple of pants later, “We’ll even cum at the same time if we do, Joanie.”

Instead of rolling her eyes, she flips her hair. “Don’t come until I do,” she warns.

He opens his mouth to say something smart, but she lets her magic out, and his eyes roll back. It rushes out of her faster than normal, splashing up the walls until it hits the wards. It settles in the room, heavy and resplendent like a dress with a long train, or the plumage of the phoenix she saw when she was fifteen. She rarely lets her magic display like this, and she feels freer for it.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Damien says, twitching inside of her. And while he can’t perceive her magic the same way she does, he’s clearly impressed and she revels in it.

He lets his magic out, and if the touch of him against a small part of her had been tempting, now he slides across all her senses, all the magic she has out, and Joan sobs. Every part of her alight and sensitized, every part able to take his power in.

And she _needs_ more, more of his magic, more of his cock, more of... 

“_Damien_.”

Electricity jumps up her spine, and then she’s coming around his cock, her hungry cunt clenching tightly around him. His magic, his hands pulling her down to him, and before she says something embarrassing about love, she captures his mouth.

Damien gasps against her as he frantically thrusts, his hands digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he fills her up. She feels his orgasm with her magic, a series of firecrackers going off one by one. And she can feel the full shape of him, a deep reservoir of night sky full of glass stars. And there, cosmic dust being pulled into a small light full of fire, pulsating. She can feel his pride and pleasure as he feeds it more of his magic.

_Is that how he sees me?_

But then, she feels the sparks of their magic at her fingertips. It sets her body alight, and her whole body shudders with orgasm again. And there is no room for her thoughts, just their magic illuminating every part of them.

* * *

Once she can stop seeing fireworks and tasting caramel, she props herself up on his chest. Damien’s face is lax, eyes closed, and a small smile.

Taking inventory of her magic, she doesn’t sense anything different. “Nothing’s changed,” she notes with some surprise.

Damien opens one eye.

“Why’d you think it would?”

“Because we had sex; shouldn’t we be bonded now?”

Although Damien’s soft inside her now, he still twitches. Opening both eyes, he sighs deeply “If sex was all that was needed for consummation I would’ve had you long ago.”

Joan blinks. “You mean we could’ve been fucking all this time without worrying about bonding?”

“Is _that_ why you didn’t want my dick inside you? That is the dumbest shit I’ve heard.”

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling your normal self again.” Joan’s mind isn’t dulled from the sex, although her body certainly feels different, slack, boneless. She adds, “If you can influence my wants, why haven’t you forced me into it?”

His hands start petting her ass, and she closes her eyes briefly.

“The point is to be a worthwhile partner even without the ability. The more time I spend with you, the less I can influence you.”

She rolls off of him, and he grumbles when he slips out of her. He’d probably be happy to stay inside her all night.

“Fascinating. Then why even bother finding partners in physical space when you could have regular partners in dream space and have your influence?”

“Why would I want dreams when I can have the real thing? Unless you want me to sex you up in the flesh and in your dreams. Can’t say I’ve tried that. We might have to… for science of course.”

“Of course,” Joan says dryly, but turns on her side, tucking her feet by his ankles.

“Okay, cool. We’ll do that later. For now, let’s enjoy the afterglow.”

She eyes the door, wondering if she puts the coat back on, if she can make it to the bathroom without being spotted. “I should pee.”

“I have magic bodily fluids, remember?”

Fuck it, Joan decides. If tomorrow goes to hell, a UTI will be the least of her concerns. She tucks herself against his side, her head near his ribs. Damien tentatively reaches over and places his hand on her shoulder as if she’s a cat he’s worried will take off running.

It reminds her of Sam’s surprise at being called her best friend. If Joan made it through tomorrow, she’d have to think about how she demonstrated how important the people she loved are.

Not that she loved Damien.

She breathes him in, once strange, now oddly familiar and comforting. And together, pressed tightly against Damien, they fall asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 10, “You think this troubles me?”

“Hey. Babe. Hey.”

The bed is warm and the body beside her a no-longer-neglected pleasure. A nose against the underside of her breast, a hand rubbing her hip getting closer and closer to her butt.

Not wanting to wake up yet, she grabs the sheets and rolls over to the other side. Damien follows and curls tightly around her. An arm around her belly, a hand squeezing her breast, and his morning wood against her ass.

He buries his face in her hair, then rubs his face in it. Her hair and his breath tickle the nape of her neck. She bats at his face, and pulls her hair to the side. But he isn’t deterred, so she decides pulling the covers over he head is a better effort.

“You should leave your hair down more often,” he says, voice rough from sleep.

Sighing, she admits, “I don’t like how young I look with it down.”

His hand squeezes her breast, then pinches her nipple. “You used to wear it down though… Joanie.”

A flicker of magic races up her, reaching for him. She bats that away too.

“You don’t have to do that. I promise playing with me is fun.” He reaches down to nestle his cock between her butt cheeks (Joan may or may not cant her hips to make that easier), then nips her shoulder.

She really shouldn’t, but she takes a bite out of his magic. Even full of more magic than she normally held, taking it was a delight. When she took magic from her wards, it was like swiftly inhaling a meal. With Damien, it was different (because she let herself enjoy it? because of the sensual nature of his magic?).

She lazily wound her hips in circles against him as his magic sent shivers up her spine. Champagne bubbles at the base of her skull.

Damien’s cock twitches, unsurprising, but his whole body shudders as well. And his whimper shouldn’t be as sweet as it is.

He ceases mouthing at her shoulder blade. Good Lord, did the man have an oral fixation?

She stretches out, says, “You know, I think I might be the sex god between the both of us.”

“_What?_”

“You promised we’d fuck until the sun came up, but you passed out right after.”

He sputters, and she turns over to enjoy the sight. Yes, watching his mouth open and close mutely is exactly as satisfying as she thought.

He shifts his hands down her lower back and to grabs a fistful of her ass.

“I did not! I got you off didn’t I? I know you enjoyed yourself, I could taste it on your orgasm.”

She usually wouldn’t tease a lover about this, but… “You did come very quickly… did you forget sex in real life functions differently than in dreams?”

He gives her a look that says, _yes_, even though he says nothing.

She touches his mouth, hoping to ease the deep frown. Instead, he takes her fingers into his mouth and sucks at them, casually indulgent, sexual only by accident. He’s calmer when he lets them go.

“Never had sex with a Lightkeeper as strong as you before,” he says, “You’re pretty potent. Not as potent as me of course.” He gives her a satisfied once over, and runs his hand up the side of her body. “You feel pretty luxurious.”

“Luxurious?” she asks in amusement.

“The feel of your magic. It’s… creamier? Fuller bodied?”

“What am I, a wine?”

“Babe, you’ve certainly aged like one.”

“I’m only thirty-three!”

“I’ve always loved older women,” he winks.

She smacks him, and he laughs. Continuing to slap him, she climbs on top, his laugh infectious, and eventually even his gasps as well.

When Joan is knuckle-deep in his mouth, there’s a series of knocks at the door.

“Um, Damien?” Sam asks, “Did you get Joan up like you said when I knocked before? We need to leave soon, and it sounds like you’re awake...”

Joan looks down at Damien, eyes narrowed. She lowers her voice and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Sam had already knocked? Why didn’t my alarm go off?”

“I woke you up didn’t I?”

To Sam, Joan says, “We’re getting up.”

“Oh, Joan! Great!” Sam says, forcefully cheery. “I’m just gonna leave now...”

“Do we have to?” Damien whines beneath her, trying to rub his morning wood against her.

Joan rolls off of him and the bed. Their time together had been good, relaxing even; she’d forgotten about today.

“Our best chance is if we get to the Association early,” she tells him as she looks for her jacket. “It’s a holiday, so if anyone is going to show up for work, they’re certainly not going to at this hour.”

There it is, under a blanket they’d kicked to the floor. Inside its pocket, her phone’s screen cheerfully asking if she wants to snooze or turn the alarm off, but it makes no noise. She can’t remember the last night she’d slept through an alarm. (She can. Vanessa, after Joan’d broken things off with Owen. Vanessa had insisted Joan drink as a preventative for heartache or second thoughts because he was excellent in bed.)

She spies her heels, one of them wedged under the nightstand. As she crawls towards it, she asks him, “Are you sure you’re alright with us not being bonded?” It wouldn’t do for him to be upset going into this.

She hears Damien kick the remaining sheets to the ground, then the floor creaking under his feet. He drapes his arms over her shoulders, his chin on her head. The weight of his body is...nice.

“You think that troubles me?” With sleep still in his voice, its roughness reminds her of last night. “I’m more troubled the Association might wreck my gorgeous face. ...But if you’re feeling troubled, we can always fuck again.” He playfully humps her back.

Reaching up, she lightly scratches the back of his neck. “When we get back, I’ll kiss any of your wounds better.”

Standing, she tries to shrug him off, but he grabs her waist instead. Good grief. (She does admit though, it’s… pleasant in its own way. When she was younger, she would’ve loved this.)

He steadies her as she puts the heels on, and she manages to get the coat on, despite how clingy he is.

“So, are you ready to be decked by Sam?”

“You sure you can’t do it?” he whines.

“You _want_ me to punch you?”

“Well, maybe spanking would be more accurate...”

S he sighs. “Fine, put it in the list of things we’ll do if we make it out of this. ... Oh, we need to strip the bed; we are definitely  putting the sheets in the wash .”

“Yes, Mom.”

She’d smack him again, but he’d probably enjoy it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 6, “I heard enough, this ends now.”

Joan blessedly makes it back to her room without running into anyone. She did _not_ want to explain skulking about in a coat with high heels in hand.

In a further stroke of luck, Damien does not follow her into her room. Instead, he’s distracted by the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen.

Once she takes a quick shower and dresses, she heads to the kitchen.

It’s more hectic than last night. Adam’s packing food into a backpack, while Caleb carries another backpack, his cheeks stuffed full of more food. Chloe’s wrapping up the rest of the breakfast food – it seems there’d been a whole spread, potatoes, omelets with veggies, fruit salad – into the fridge. Sam, like Joan, is watching the whole scene as well, nervously tapping her pen against a barely-started crossword puzzle from the newspaper.

Joan stills Sam’s hand by placing hers lightly over it. “We’ll get him out of there, Sam.”

Sam blinks up at her. “Huh? Oh, right. Of course.”

“Are you alright?”

Sam flips her palm over and links her hands with Joan. Joan’s startled by the casual ease of it.

“I’ve built my life so I don’t have to use my valkyrie abilities. But here I am, needing them. Was I wrong avoiding them all this time? Would I be less nervous if I had? What if I fail because I didn’t? What if...”

Joan squeezes back tightly. “Sam. The only people to blame are the ones who kidnapped Mark, not you.”

“Or you.”

She sighs. “Or me. You’ll do wonderfully Sam. Your abilities are meant to be used in difficult situations.”

“Mom always said warriors without someone to come home to were just assholes. And I have Mark.” Sam’s not fully sure of herself yet, but she’s determined and in love. Women have done great feats of heroism without the beserker ability. Sam would be fine.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Damien reaching for a granola bar.

Chloe slaps his hand away. “No, today’s important. We saved you guys a plate. Full stomachs can’t lose!”

At Sam’s look, Chloe adds, “Actually, you can eat in the car.”

Sam nods, “The sooner we leave the better.”

She lets go of Joan’s hand with a small smile and says thanks. Then she calls over to Damien, “Can you grab your plate and Joan’s from over there?”

Damien pads over, lifts up the plastic wrap and breathes it in. “Aw yeah, bacon. Thanks babe.”

Joan tells herself she’s not annoyed he’s calling another woman by a demeaning pet name.

“Joanie babe, c’mon let’s hurry to the car so we can eat.” He stuffs a piece of bacon into his mouth.

Never mind.

* * *

Vanessa’s brown SUV is parked in front of the house. Adam and Caleb climb in to the back seat first. Sam follows next, taking the passenger seat. Chloe whistles as she cheerfully takes the driver’s seat. Damien goes in last, their breakfast in one hand, and he rubs her lower back as he passes by.

Joan takes a moment to watch them under the summer sky, then hears one last set of footsteps come through the front door.

“You’re fine with this Vanessa?” Joan asks.

Vanessa crosses her arms, and looks at the kids laughing in the van, Sam giving a small smile. “I’m worried about Chloe, of course,” she replies. “But you have to go; I saw it in the fire.”

“Your powers have matured further?” Vanessa’s fire magic had always been strong, but she’d never shown a tendency for future telling.

Vanessa merely shakes her head. “I don’t know if I would’ve saw it without the coven’s help. All I know is something is happening at the Association today, and the fire thought it important.”

Joan wishes she could be as certain as her.

“Am I doing the right thing, Nessa, taking them with me?”

Vanessa turns her gaze on Joan. “We all do what we have to, even you.” She keeps staring at her, and Joan starts to worry. “When you come back, and we get you and Mark settled, we’ll have to catch up. Especially on your new boyfriend.”

Joan opens her mouth, but she feels a small shudder against her magic.

Vanessa stills, eyes turning towards the city. The kids in the car grow quiet. It hits Joan a moment later, the heat of summer, the smell of roses in their backyard, a sigh of gold.

_Mark_ .

She hasn’t felt his power like this in so long. She’d always been able to reach for Mark, known the feel of his magic since he came into this world. She still feels his magic when she reaches for him, but she’s never felt his power like _this_. Powerful, like a blaze next to her. Not since she’d begun hiding his magic.

His magic burns hotter, and Joan has to force her eyes to stay open. There, in what must be the direction the Association is in, his magic shines like a SOS beacon for anyone with a hint of magic to feel, and then it’s gone.

Her breathing grows heavy. What had they done to her brother to make him display like that?

A second wave of magic rolls over them. Her skin prickles as she breaks into a sweat, a burning in the back of her throat like chilies, the need to cough up dust. The fire is strong and hot, and even Vanessa closes her eyes against it, and Joan struggles to get to the van against the weight of the magic.

Caleb helps her get into the SUV, his eyes wolf amber. Damien then hauls her into the far back seats.

“We need to go _now_,” Joan gasps, as Damien tries to sit her in his lap. She slides off his thighs and buckles herself in.

Damien says, “Something’s coming.”

“No _shit_,” Caleb says.

“Just what we need,” Sam says. “What is it?”

“Dunno, but it’s strong and it’s _pissed_,” Damien frowns.

“We don’t have time for this, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there!” Joan insists. “Drive, Chloe!”

Chloe zips out of the gravel driveway quickly, glancing at her mother in the rear view mirror. They each raise a hand in farewell.

* * *

The ride to the city is strange. Joan and Sam sit in quiet. She regrets not sitting next to her, but it would look better if anyone spotted them to see Sam up front and not chatting with her captives.

Caleb’s tense, but Adam’s gotten Caleb to join in flirting. Joan doesn’t have the heart to interrupt their smiles and bubbles of laughter. She wonders if this means she shouldn’t be bringing them along, but she needs their help, and telling them how serious this could get wouldn’t help either.

Damien ignores all car etiquette and yells up to Chloe, “Why’d you change your hair?” He gestures at his own hair, entirely different from Chloe’s cornrows.

“I’m channeling Queen Latifah in _Set It Off_,” Chloe shouts back. “Mom helped Caleb with it last night, since Adam says Caleb needs more practice before he lets him touch his hair.”

Caleb blushes.

Joan’s relieved there was some kind of parental observation last night.

“We’re almost there,” Sam says, voice rough.

The laughter cuts off.

“Everyone knows the plan?” Joan says, ready to remind everyone.

“Yes, Mom,” Damien drones.

Adam unzips his backpack and removes high protein and carb snacks, including an entire bunch of bananas. He unpeels one protein bar and a banana without fumbling either, which Joan thinks is impressive. He hands them to Caleb, who just cups his hands around Adam’s.

“You don’t know what’s in there, Caleb,” Adam says nervously. “You don’t want to be caught needing to shift and you don’t have the energy to do so, do you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Caleb says reassuringly, but takes a large bite of the banana anyway.

Werefolk burned through energy much quicker while in their animal shapes. Part of the reasons humans had feared them so much, was that they were seen after clan battles gorging on animals that they humans incorrectly assumed were their enemies.

“You’re like a runner carb loading,” Chloe smiles into the rear view mirror.

“And don’t worry,” Caleb says, “I’m running back to you.”

Adam looks into his eyes, and Joan promises herself she’ll see Mark and Sam look at each other like that at their wedding in a couple months.

Chloe pulls up to one of the lesser-used entrances to the Association. Towards the side of the library wing, it empties into the Association cafeteria. If there were any staff in the building today, many of them would be nearby, waiting for the much-loved holiday fare the cooks put out for the poor souls working.

Caleb gets out. He lingers at the car door, looking back at Adam.

Adam leans out, pushes Caleb’s face towards his armpit (where his scent is strong, Joan notes approvingly), then kisses him.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Some of the worry eases from Caleb, and he gives a small smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

Joan and Damien shuffle into the next row of seats so they’re ready to slip out once Chloe stops again.

As Joan counts her breathes, Chloe says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

“Pardon?” Joan says.

“Ohhhh,” Damien drawls with a perfectly round mouth.

Sam looks back at them, then a look of determination settles across her; Joan sees it in the set of her eyebrows. She unbuckles her seat belt and gets into the seat between Damien and Joan.

“Joan, you’ll need to move,” Sam states, looking at Damien.

Joan slides herself into the small space between seat and door, wondering how she even forgot about this detail. She can’t afford to miss details like this.

Sam clenches her fist. Damien nods.

Before Joan can try to coach Sam through focusing her power for such a small task, Sam socks him.

“Holy shit, Sam!” Joan exclaims. She’d never seen Sam actually use her powers, never had to hear the _sound_ of flesh being crushed.

Sam gets back into the front seat. “He’s a supernatural, he can take more of a beating than you can.”

Joan sputters.

A bruise is already blooming across Damien’s cheek, and he wipes away blood from his mouth. He must’ve bit down when Sam struck him.

“Am I still pretty?” he asks.

Joan presses a hand against the bruise, and he inhales sharply, but still leans into her palm, despite the pain. He presses a bloody kiss against her palm.

“We’re almost there guys,” Chloe announces. Then she reaches into the glove compartment, and slides her tortoiseshell sunglasses on. She looks ready to avoid the paparazzi, or at least be less recognizable to anyone who sees her.

Sam ties Joan and Damien’s wrists. The rope isn’t warded, and isn’t going to fool anyone who looks closely, but all they need to do is get past the lobby where they’re most likely to run into someone.

Chloe stops in the passenger loading zone, and Sam gets out.

Joan slides to the edge of the seat, then looks back at Chloe.

“Chloe, if it looks like _anything_ is going wrong, please get out of here.”

She nods, more serious than Joan’s ever seen her. “I’ll be waiting here for all of you.”

But Joan doesn’t think she’ll actually listen to her.

Sam opens the rear door, and yanks her and Damien onto the sidewalk.

* * *

Mags is at the reception desk, dressed in a floral button-up and chunky jade necklace.

“Hey, Sam,” she says. “I didn’t think I’d see you today since you...” Her eyes widen as she sees Damien sulking in bondage and then Joan.

“Mags, could you please tell Head Lantern Wadsworth I brought her what she wanted?” Even Sam’s assertive voice has a quiver to it.

“Um...”

Runes across the floor start lighting up in lime green and ocher. Mags stands back, holding her hands over the desk as she reads the info being relayed through them.

A Firefly runs in, who must be trying to put in extra time in hopes of looking good in Head Lantern Wadworth’s eyes. His eyes are wide as he squeaks, “Werewolf in the cafeteria!”

“I know that!” Mags says. “Sam, I’ll tell Head Lantern Wadsworth right after I handle this, okay?”

Then she turns her attention to the Firefly, tells him to go home, and runs towards to the cafeteria. The Spark doesn’t need to be told twice, and flees the lobby.

Sam looks around quickly, and once she sees no one else is around, she breaks the rope off of Joan and Damien in one go. While the two of them shake out their wrists, Sam goes to the reception desk and taps into the rune system.

“Okay Sam,” she mutters to herself, “this isn’t so different from obscure magical textbooks; same concept, just streamlined...”

“How come you’re not doing it?” Damien asks Joan, licking at the cut on his lip.

“I’ve never liked runes or wards,” Joan replies. She’d specialized in the small set she needed to contain her wards and had perfected that. The rest of it hadn’t interested her, particularly because a Lantern of her caliber with a specialty in runes would have been pipelined into Head Lantern Wadsworth’s private team.

(When she’d asked Damien if he could pull the trick he had at the museum, repelling people away, he’d sputtered and with some coaxing, admitted he’d passed out as soon as he’d gone home.)

“The guards are heading to two different areas of the dungeon to fortify the defenses,” Sam says, removing her hand from the desk. “They’re both in the west wing.”

“We’ll have to split up then,” Joan frowns. The hall was shaped like a U, and if either of them needed help, it would take time for them to reach the other party.

“I’ll go with Joan,” Damien says.

Sam nods.

A rebuttal is on the tip of Joan’s tongue, but she knows Sam’s the logical choice to go alone with her ability. And Joan, much to her own chagrin, is the most fragile of the three of them. Damien at least, could influence people to a certain extent even when sex wasn’t a motivation. And as Sam had proven, he could take more of a beating than she could.

The elevator ride down to the high-security area is quiet, with Damien tapping his foot and Sam rolling her fingers in a wave.

With a ding, the doors open into a hallway that runs horizontal.

“Well, here we go,” Sam says too brightly.

Joan takes her hands. “You’ve got this. You have all the tools you need to succeed.”

“So you keep telling me. Haven’t you been trying to get me to do something like this for awhile now?”

“I was thinking roller derby or rugby, but this’ll do too.”

Sam snorts. “Keep her safe, alright?” Sam directs at Damien.

Joan doesn’t see what Damien does, but Sam gives a nod of approval.

With that done, Sam begins down the left side of the hall.

“Shall we?” Damien says holding out his arm. He looks nothing like a knight in his ratty t-shirt and Chucks, but it's better than nothing.

She briefly places her hand over his elbow, then pushes it back.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Damien looks bored.

“Shouldn’t we be running?” he groans.

Shaking her head, Joan replies, “We’ll only look more suspicious that way.”

“Well there’s certainly a _suspicious_ lack of guards here.”

Joan admits he’s right. Where were they?

The door to the right opens up, and out steps a familiar suit.  He might have more stubble than she’d ever seen him  (he was always fastidious about his appearance) , but  there’s no mistaking that face.

_Shit_ ,  she thinks.

“Ah, Joan,” Owen says, hazel eyes wide and blood shot, “I was just about to...”

And of course, Damien has to open his mouth. “You have got to be kidding me, _that’s_ your ex? _He’s_ your type?” Damien’s voice moves from anger to high-pitched worry for himself, but his hand still slides into Joan’s back pocket. What a man.

“Ah, you must be the new boyfriend,” Owen replies with nothing but politeness.

Owen holds his hand out, and Damien moves to take it. But who knows what Damien will do.

“How did you hear about that?” Joan interjects, hoping to keep them from fighting.

“I’m a friendly face. People like to talk to me,” Owen frowns, a tad affronted.

The Association did love its gossip, and people did love Owen. She remembers they’d been just as eager for information on Owen and Joan, especially when Head Lantern Wadsworth had tapped Owen for a promotion instead of Joan. That was Joan’s fault. She’d deliberately played down her ambitions with Wadsworth, and she suspected Wadworth knew it. That didn’t stop the rumor mill from saying Joan had broken up with Owen over that.

“A pleasure,” Owen says to Damien, entirely sincere.

“Oh, believe me, the _pleasure_ is all mine,” Damien smirks, shaking Owen’s hands.

Knowing Owen still holds a torch for her, Joan hopes Damien isn’t trying to read any of Owen’s desires.

Owen clasps both of his hands over Damien’s. He must be squeezing too tight or politeness, but his face is nothing but earnest concern.

“Geez, buddy!” Damien yelps.

He tries to pull his hand away, and Joan admits the sight is comical. Damien squirming like a cartoon figure, and Owen in his white button-up calm and still as can be.

“I trust you understand how important Joan is and will do all you can to protect her?” Owen says with deliberate care.

“Christ, man, of course I can! Who do you think I am!”

“I think you’re her...”

“Are you seriously talking about me like I’m not here, and perfectly capable of handling myself? I’ve heard enough, this ends now,” Joan barks, putting all the sharp disapproval she can into it.

Owen lets go of Damien’s hands and looks at his wingtip shoes sheepishly. Damien looks like a kicked puppy because she wouldn’t let him piss on her leg.

Joan keeps staring at Damien, while Owen looks between them.

“Geez, I’m sorry, I know you’re a strong independent woman or whatever,” Damien moans. “But I think he knows something.”

“What?” Joan’s head snaps to Owen.

“What I was going to say was I’ve been waiting for you.” Reaching into his trouser pocket, Owen takes out a brass key and holds it out to Joan. “Mark’s in the third to last room on the left.” He inclines his head down the long grey hall.

If Owen was right, he was about to save them the time of checking every door. This wing was where the Association did any experimental magic, or kept high risk supernaturals. The warding was thick, and Joan couldn’t sense anything past their heavy pulse.

“Why are you doing this Owen?”

Owen’s face falls. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“You are a suit, man,” Damien says.

Owen opens his mouth, but wisely does not reply to Damien.

Joan merely looks at him. “Owen, you were always so thoughtful, but there was also a lot you didn’t say once you started working directly with Head Lantern Wadsworth.”

At last, Owen quietly says, “The things Ellie wants to do… They’re amazing, things you hear about at the museum’s Beacon exhibit. Straight out of mythology. But what she’s doing now endangers the whole city.”

“And _that’s_ where you draw the line?” Damien sneers.

Joan talks over Damien. “I don’t care about the city, I care about saving Mark!”

Owen’s face pales. “Joan, Ellie plans on using Mark’s Beacon ability to call something big here, something very powerful. And since he hasn’t cooperated, she’s making him do it.”

Joan swears. There’d been rumors about Head Lantern Wadworth’s methods, none of them good.

“Whoa, didn’t know you had it in you,” Damien remarks.

She grabs the key from Owen.

“Whatever you did to keep the guards away, keep doing it,” she demands.

“Alright.”

“Let’s go, Damien.”

And with Damien on her heels, Joan goes to get her brother.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Sam in the Association.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 25, “Go forward, do not stray.”

Caleb takes one last look around the cafeteria, emptied of people, upturned cups still dripping coffee, and napkins still fluttering to the ground. For being a powerful organization, they sure did scare off quickly, he’d only had to howl once. Then again, anyone in their right mind would flee when a half-shifted werewolf appeared. Especially if they wanted a good reason to spend the holiday at home.

Breaking into the Association HQ and scaring the staff was _not_ a part of Caleb’s summer break plans. Those had been taking summer courses and visiting his boyfriend (mate!) and late night conversations and more playlists. But when Chloe had reached out saying Lantern Bright needed help, Caleb was in his car ready to go. And Adam had slid into his passenger seat with a backpack full of snacks for the roadtrip, and his playlist ready to go.

People who weren’t weres didn’t understand what loyalty meant to them, but Lantern Bright had been there when Caleb needed it the most. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle finding his mate so young without her. And for the gift of time she’d given him, this wasn’t a big deal.

... well,  breaking into the Association  _was_ a big deal, but when he’d told his family, Alice had shouted,  _burn those fuckers to the ground!_ No love lost between weres and the Assocation.

But hey! He was getting to spend time with Adam! He really should start heading back out to Adam waiting in the car with Chloe.

But the trays of food are still hot, the steam fragrant, and it’d be a shame to waste it. He paws over to it, grabs a tray of bacon and waffles in each paw and sits down at the nearest table. He can barely fit in the chair, but he makes it work.

As he’s on the last piece of bacon, he smells Adam – green grass, wet earth, starting to sweat – running towards him.

“I’m here!” Adam says.

Caleb raises a furry eyebrow.

“I know I was supposed to stay in the car with Chloe, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Caleb wags his tail. Good mate. He doesn’t like that Adam’s here, but he is happy Adam trusts him to keep him safe. He’s not ready to try kissing Adam when his face is more muzzle and teeth than human lips, so instead he licks Adam’s cheek instead.

“Hey!” Adam laughs. “We should get going… but before we go, did you save me any?” He peers over at the food.

Caleb holds out a blueberry muffin in his paw. Adam smiles and Caleb swears he can feel his heart ready to burst out of its chest.

Adam takes it from him and sits on his thigh eating it. Then he giggles at Caleb’s thumping tail.

Caleb’s so caught up in Adam he doesn’t notice the sound of heels calmly approaching, when everyone else’s sounds are fading into the distance.

“Well, what do we have here?”

_Shit_ , he thinks.  _Head Lantern Wadsworth_ .  He recognizes her immediately;  she smelled like myrrh and coconut.

Everyone in the supernatural community looked with trepidation at the front page of the newspaper when they heard Head Lantern Rustova was retiring. Would the new Head Lantern be just as cruel, or something less worse?

The head of his pack had met with her when she’d been promoted, as had all the important community members.  _She smelled like myrrh and when she smiled, I thought _ I _ was Little Red Riding Hood_ , he’d said.

Caleb looks at the woman who’ d  made  his alpha smell of fear .  Leopard print heels, wide legged pants and a slim cut blazer.  A face  that  could be on billboards and front pages . 

“You must be related to Joan somehow…” her voice is smooth as caramel and there’s the smell of fruity gum on her breath. “I do recall a werewolf being under her care last year. But he moved away to college last fall, so you must’ve come here for her. My, my, how wonderful.”

Caleb growls, and the Head Lantern merely smiles.

Adam slides off Caleb’s thigh, looks at the Head Lantern with surprise, and not an ounce of fear. “Aunt Annabelle?” he asks.

“_She’s_ your Aunt? How did you not mention she’s the Head Lantern?” Caleb’s voice was something else when he went wolf, and most non weres shuddered at the way it was more rumble than human. Adam wasn’t bothered by it at all. Neither was the Head Lantern.

“It’s not like our actual last name is Wadsworth! And my parents haven’t talked much to her since her promotion… Oh _shit_.” He sours with fear, and Caleb doesn’t like that at all.

“Adam, what are you doing here?” the Head Lantern asks, sounding like this was a normal conversation. “Your parents said you were taking extra courses over the summer.”

“Um...”

The Head Lantern looks between Caleb and his boyfriend.

“Oh, he’s your mate.” Caleb knows that tone of voice, the disapproval in how backwood and backwater weres were.

And now it’s Caleb’s turn to panic. He’d been so careful to not tell Adam they were mates! Had to bribe his sister by doing the dishes for three months to keep her quiet. He didn’t want to pressure Adam into anything remotely like _forever and ever til death do us part_.

Adam merely stands tall and resolute, mouth firming. “Aunt Annabel, you of all people should know that’s _private…_ and I was waiting for him to tell me himself.”

“Oh, you think it’s _romantic_ don’t you?” 

T he Head Lantern  c lenches  her magic  around Caleb,  and she takes and she  _takes_ faster than any transformation a were could ever manage. His body reshapes itself at her will, not his, and this is what is done only to ferals, anathema.

“Aunt Annabel, _stop!”_

“I’m sorry, Adam,” she says at last, her work done. “We can talk about this all you want later, but I need to finish this. He’ll be fine.”

She releases him at last, but Caleb can barely move. All he can do is whine on the floor, entirely wolf, without any way to speak at all. The form they took when weakened and in danger, better to be in fur than skin. Adam runs to him, scooping Caleb’s head into his lap.

“You shocked him like a dog!” Adam cries, cradling Caleb.

The Head Lantern’s face softens, “Adam, you always were kind-hearted. Can’t you see he’s a danger wearing human skin? I tried to tell you went to college, go forward with your studies, don’t stray. You don’t understand what creatures like him are capable of. I’m doing this to _protect_ people like you, you’ll understand.”

She rebuttons her blazer, smooths the front of her trousers. “I’m afraid I have to leave you two here. I have business to take care of.

“Oh, and I called your parents.”

* * *

Demolishing the guards  lining the hallway  had been easy  an d exhilarating.  When Sam’d punched Damien, she’d seen how Joan’d flinched .  Normal people didn’t enjoy this.  But her heart  pounds with the promise of victory, her body ready to respond to anything and anyone who stood in her way . No hesitation, no second-guessing or anxiety. It’s liberating, freeing.  Was this what life could feel like?

She’d already knocked down guard after guard, their bodies piling up, and  she hadn’t tripped once .  She didn’t stumble as their spells hit her, she  merely took the hit and kept going.  Mark was waiting for her.

As Sam punches another guard, she hopes Joan and Damien aren’t facing anything like this. Two guards per door in a hallway of fifteen doors? This was _nuts_.

But if it was heavily guarded, that had to mean Mark was nearby right?

She ducks, letting the guard’s baton hit the other.

Standing, she takes a look to make sure they’re all down, the hallway full of nothing but fallen bodies. She hadn’t killed any of them of course, just knocked them out for a while. The last guard trembles to her left, and she downs him with an elbow to his gut.

Stepping over him, she reaches a plain wooden door with an iron handle. This was the door they’d done their best to protect. Mark has to be here. Turning the handle, sparks of magic light up sigils.

It’s an observation room, and on the other side of the glass is Mark slumped against a corner. But in the dim light of the observation side, is an anxious man, five o’clock shadow grown long. His eyes are blood-shot. He has magic, but nothing that could hurt her. He was here for something other than security.

“Can you please knock me out too?” the mage asks.

“Excuse me?” she steps inside. No one else but him and Mark is in this room.

“I heard you outside, and Mark’s a nice guy. I feel bad for the situation he’s in. Please, you gotta get him. Just make it look like I put up a fight?”

She nods, then slaps him down, giving him the courtesy of a gentle fall.

The door to the observation side is unlocked, and how bad must Mark be off to not have realized it? Once she’s sure it’ll swing open, she kicks it in; she’d always thought it’d looked cool in the movies and how awesome would it be to save Mark like that?

The door clattering against the stone wall draws Mark’s attention. He looks up from his knees. His hands, curled around his shins, have scrapes on his knuckles, chipped fingernails. His magic is entirely depleted. She’d never seen a Lightkeeper so low on magic, even his own innate magic, dangerously low. He couldn’t put up a fight if he wanted to.

She kneels down, gently takes his hands. She could crush them so easily.

“Sam,” he says, voice breaking.

She kisses him. His lips are dry, taste like blood, and his magic reaches for her. She lets him siphon some of the battle high pulsing through her as she pushes him into the floor, her hands pressing his against the floor, until he yelps in pain.

“Shit, sorry!” she exclaims, coming back to herself at last.

“I gotta say, you gotta beat people more often if this is the welcome I get!”

She laughs wetly, and pulls him up, so they’re sitting together. His magic still pulses weakly, but it’s better than before. “Now’s not the time for jokes. You sure you don’t need more magic before we get out of here?”

Mark’s pupil’s contract, and it’s the strangest thing. He grabs her shoulders, his grip stronger than she thought him capable of. “Keep it, we’re going to need it. We have to get Joan.”

“What?”

“She’s not after me,” Mark continues, face set in grim determination and worry, “She wants Joanie.”

All Sam wants to do is bundle Mark up, and take him away from this horrible place. But she can’t find the words to tell him. Her body wants another physical obstacle to overcome. Punching those guards, she could do. Trying to outwit the Head Lantern known for her blazing intelligence was beyond her right now.

“Sam,” Mark wheezes. “Joan could _die_. All the other Lanterns Wadsworth tried this with didn’t survive the jump.”

There’s an action. They need to get to Joan.

“Where are you hurt?” she asks, trying to figure out the best way to carry him.

“Where am I _not_ hurt? Just do it, we need to get to her.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan confronts Head Lantern Wadsworth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 20, “I hope you have a speech prepared.”

It isn’t a room, but a courtyard. Joan’s never been granted access to this wing of the Association, and she’s surprised to see it’s much larger than it looks. A couple steps ahead of her, the wood flooring stops abruptly, emptying into the wild ground and open sky above them.

“Did you know,” Head Lantern Wadsworth says near an old, old oak whose limbs grow wide enough to obscure the sky, “that they say Beacons used to amazing feats of magic at this very spot? That’s why the Association was built on this very spot.” She pats its wide trunk with her manicured hands.

As far as Joan knows, there’s no such outdoor place in the Association. Deep magic must keep it obscured from both mortal and technological eyes. It certainly didn’t look tended to, with poppies, daffodils, and other plants growing wild. But the space by the oak holds only low grass, as if the plants didn’t dare to go near it.

Stepping forward, she feels the air change the moment her shoes sink into the soft earth. Humidity, the sound of crickets in the heat.

“Where’s Mark?”

The Head Lantern’s white blazer lies haphazardly over marigolds, her matching silk shell showing no signs of sweat in the heat. Not to mention, her snakeskin heels weren’t sinking into the ground at all. She looked far more put together than she had any right to.

“Oh, I had him moved elsewhere,” she replies nonchalantly. “His fiancée has him in her capable hands. I didn’t think she had it in her honestly, but love makes us do crazy things, doesn’t it Joan?”

“My brother, Head Lantern Wadsworth,” she says through her teeth.

Owen had seemed sincere about wanting to help them, but he’d led them straight to the Head Lantern and not to Mark. What a sentimental fool she was.

“Oh, don’t make that face, Joan. Your judge of character is still intact. Owen genuinely wanted to help you. I just moved Mark elsewhere.” Wadsworth makes a show of peeking around Joan. “And who is that with you? That must be the boyfriend we’ve all heard so much of. Powerful little thing isn’t he? I’m sure he must be a tasty snack, but you’re not one to indulge are you?”

Joan looks over her shoulder at Damien, drawing up behind her. He hunches his shoulders, shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Lady, you got balls to be fucking around in a place like this.”

“Why thank you Robert,” Wadsworth replies sweetly.

Damien’s face crumples like a wad of trash, and Joan will ask about this later when they get out.

“_Don’t_ fucking call me that.” He places his hand in Joan’s back pocket, probably trying to look suave, but it feels like he’s looking for comfort.

Wadsworth rolls her eyes and directs her attention back to Joan, looking like she’s confiding in her. “Men. I always knew Owen didn’t have the stomach for this kind of thing. Now _you_ Joan, on the other hand,” she clicks her tongue.

S omething vibrates on the edges of Joan’s magic sense. It quickly grows in intensity, her bones beginning to vibrate. Then the magic crests over them, scalding. Joan cries out, shutting her eyes against Wadsworth’s sharp smile. The same magic as when they’d left Chloe’s. Something angry, something  molten and  buzzing with more magic than she’d ever felt.  Even through the pain, the sharp hunger in her began to tune itself to it, wanting to see how much of it  was there, how much she could devour.

Damien’s hand moves to the small of her back and pushes a small spark of his magic toher, and it’s enough for her to come back to herself.

Wadsworth’s grin is knowing. “Your timing is perfect, Joan. You’re just in the time for the show.”

When no answer is forthcoming, Joan grinds her teeth. She knows Wadsworth loves to preen and gloat. “Are you going to enlighten me? I’d have thought you’d have a speech prepared.”

“A real life summoning!”

“Summoning?” Joan echoed faintly.

Creatures of the old magic could be called – serpents that slept in volcanoes, thunder birds of the desert, things no one in their right mind ever called these days because you couldn’t control them – but it required a lot of preparation and often the circumstances had to be aligned just so. You couldn’t just _call_ something that old like a taxi cab.

“Didn’t you pay attention to the museum exhibit? Or were you distracted by that boy you have?” Head Lantern Wadsworth glances at Damien. “Do you know why you’re called Beacons? Beacons shine so brightly can draw anything to them, and Mark did splendidly with this one. He just needed to be removed from your protection… and given the right incentive.”

“What did you do to Mark?” Joan whispers.

Wadsworth’s smile lines deepen. “You have other things to deal with first. Namely, whatever is on its way here. It’s not happy, and Mark won’t be able to calm him down. Whatever will we do?”

The searing magic focuses on the oak tree, a blazing point in her mind. Wadsworth quickly steps away from it, as the trunk slowly begins to part. Smoke sputters out of it, then its sap leaks gold fire. Horns inlaid with gold emerge first, then its head with obsidian teeth.

“Uh, Joan, the man’s _pisse__d,” _Damien says unhelpfully, looking torn between fear and ready to piss it off more so Joan can make a get away

“Yes, it would be because of what we did to Mark,” Wadsworth adds.

“What did you do to him?” Joan asks again, voice cracking. But Wadsworth makes no reply, and Joan remembers the long-ago winter day when she’d found Mark on fire and playing with an ifrit as they chased each other across the lawn.

The ifrit’s jaws open, and it lets out a sound that makes the air shimmer like a mirage as its torso emerges. Fur made of sparks, but the bark doesn’t singe.

Joan steps back, looks at the door behind her. There had to be a way for her to leave Wadsworth in here with the ifrit while she got Mark and left.

“Ah ah ah,” Wadsworth tuts, looking calm despite the sweat beading on her face. “It’s come to help Mark, but it’s mindless from his pain, a benefit of the bond between Beacon and ward when given enough time.”

Joan cries, and it has nothing to do with the sting of smoke.

The ifrit’s torso emerges, and Joan isn’t sure how to name it – man, bull, lizard – it was old enough anyway to have been born with mountains and when deep sea volcanoes breached the ocean’s surface.

“You did this on purpose,” Joan states.

“Of course.”

“You knew all this time Mark was a Beacon.”

“Really, Joan.”

A cloven hoof steps out,  plants crumbling to ash beneath it  and then it’s long whip-like tail,  leaving fire in its wake.  Its power grows stronger and stronger, like stepping into a hot spring that was too hot.

“A Beacon could calm his anger before he burned the Association and the rest of the city, but Mark’s flamed out. And thanks to your efforts, that aren’t enough Lightkeepers in the building to try and drain its magic. If only there was _someone_...”

“_You_,” Joan swears.

Damien whistles. “Fuck lady, you’re devious.”

“Thank you,” Wadsworth replies.

Damien looks to Joan. “If you still wanna get out of dodge, I’ll go with you.”

But Joan knows there isn’t a choice at all.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan makes her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 5, “Take what you need.”

_You’re using me as an excuse_ , Mark had said to her more than once.

And he was right, not that Joan ever admitted it. All these years, she’d been afraid what being a Beacon would mean. She’d seen what Mark could do, young and untrained with his magic, what power Mark’d drawn to him. And he’d let them go – unicorns, golems, kirins, dragons, _angels,_ things Joan still didn’t know what they were – without asking for anything in return.

She doesn’t want to ever know what she’d do with that power or responsibility. It’d been easier to never have to open the door at all. But Wadsworth _knows. _For how long Joan isn’t sure, but it was long enough for Wadsworth to lay a trap and Joan to have walked into it.

She doesn’t know_ why_ Wadsworth wants her to become a Beacon. But Joan can’t let people be hurt merely because Wadsworth wants a magic experiment, and she was too squeamish.

The ifrit opens its mouth, exhaling black smoke that makes them cough. Its head looks past all of them, searching for Mark’s magic. Not finding it, it lets out a sound like the roar of wind before a storm.

Joan extends her magic, trying to gauge how deep its magic runs, if she can calm it without giving Wadsworth what she wants.

She begins a formal plea to it, like they do in the old epics, _O Ifrit who has come from afar to aid my brother, please_...

She recoils, the magic too hot, repelling her. It’s too powerful and angry. Whatever Wadsworth had done to Mark, she’d burned him out, and he wouldn’t be able to take the edge off the ifrit. If Joan had more time, she’d be touched the ifrit’s just as pissed as she is about Mark. 

It takes another step, grass and flowers catching fire, and if this was what it was going to do, it wasn’t going to be good; the fire was caused by magic and wouldn’t be put out by anything other than magic or salt. The Library books talked about fire magic that burned through cities for days on end.

She can’t let it run rampant like this. Mark wouldn’t be able to outrun the fire either, and if neither he nor her were around, who knew how far the ifrit would rage until it calmed.

She’s going to have to handle this like one of her wards who’s letting their magic control them: drain its magic until it can see straight again. She’s at the top spectrum of being a Lantern, and she isn’t strong enough to touch, let alone hold, the ifrit’s level of magic.

_Th_ _at_ _ bitch_ , she thinks, looking at Wadsworth’s face,  smug  even as she starts to sweat.

She turns to Damien, watching her with glassy eyes. He licks his lips. “Take what you need,” he says, his face the most serious she’s ever seen it. “Gotta prove I’m better than Owen, right?”

She opens her mouth to tell him what a chauvinistic notion that is, but he lets go of his magic.

It’s a languid wave. When it reaches the ifrit, it merely dissolves into pearlescent steam against its aura. When it touches Wadsworth, her head tips back until she holds his magic back with a hand. (Sloppy of Damien, Joan thinks, letting everyone feel him this intimately, have access to him like this.)

When the magic nears Joan, she grasps it, redirecting its flow from Wadsworth and the ifrit to just her. His magic reaches back, pulls her _in_ and _down_ and Joan feels the floor – or her legs? – fall away from her. 

No one’s ever opened themselves like this to her. No reservations, nothing held back; just his magic everywhere, as much of it as she wanted hers. His magic is…

(exactly what it is; in balance with him, working in tandem, a smooth glide, like his cock inside her body)

...different from hers, free-flowing, uncontrolled. When she visualizes drawing on her magic, she imagines her stomach as a well. But Damien, she gets a glimpse of how he sees a glass floor across the night sky, and god it’s  _beautiful_ . How when he reaches for his magic, works it with each person’ s star , he imagined flavor across his mouth. Salt-rimmed bachlorette part y margaritas , tangy mustard on a charred hot dog, whipped cream across  Joan’s nipples.

Joan’s magic rises, eagerly, ready to take him in. And for the first time in many years, she doesn’t fight it, or clench her body around its power.

_Let’s go_ , she thinks.

She begins drinking Damien in and hears a child’s laughter in response.

A pooling of heat in her core as she takes and takes. She feels the magic in her belly pushing against her organs and ligaments, happening quicker than she expected. Because of the magic Damien had fed her, she realizes with a start (_c’mon baby, you were so _hungry_ for it_, the smug bastard croons_)._ By the time she realizes she doesn’t need much at all to make the jump, it’s too late. 

Just this small taste of his heart is all she needs to –

Like an orgasm, she feels the exact moment she crosses from Lantern to Beacon.

When she’d moved from Spark to Lantern, it’d been a long ripple, like a stone dropped in the pond and it sank further than she thought it could. It’d been meditative and left her full of awe. But the quick inhale of Damien’s magic is something else entirely. Her body bursting, magic snapping her bones and popping her cells, jackknifing through her. Magic changing itself into something new. Lightning in her belly, racing up her body, shuddering as it works its way through her body, toes curling.

And then, like a joint popping into place, she feels the vast space and potential crackling within her.

_(That’s my girl_ , Damien thinks,  his magic still curling around her possessively. )

She can feel him, Wadsworth, and the ifrit’s magic clearly now. She could take all of Damien and the Head Lantern’s magic, but she has business to attend to first.

Turning her attention to the towering figure of fire and anger, Joan reaches to take its vast power for herself.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 27, “Remember, you have to remember.”

When Joan swallowed her wards’ magic, she immediately felt their magic wane. But with the ifrit, she pulls and pulls and still there is more.

The ifrit continues towards the door to the rest of the Association, unphased by the magic Joan’s imbibed, enough her head feels ready to float away. She tries to siphon more of its magic. She would not let it pass and burn through where Mark and Sam were.

_Stubborn. Let’s show him._

The voice isn’t Damien’s. It’s the same as the laughter she heard before, and its exasperation and confidence is as familiar as well-worn socks. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate that. Her magic reaches for a different part of the ifrit and _pulls_, and like water running out of the bathtub, its magic and fire rushes to Joan.

The grass fire races to her as well, a cyclone of fire spiraling around her and the ifrit. Fire dancing up her arms, she exhales smoke as she tries to breathe from her gut to crown (as her yoga teacher always frustratingly tells her). But it quickly is…

it becomes…

It wasn’t just the magic’s hunger, it was hers. Her hunger, her want, her desire. She felt the very bones of who she was fall away from her, leaving

just the heart of...

Her magic is made for the desert, changing shapes on the horizon, hidden jewels of water and green, flowers that bloom only for those who stay for the rain, the animals under her hot sands. These were all hers to care and provide for. But this isn’t her land. These are grasses and petals for earth that drinks of rain regularly.

Who had called her here? Where was the boy she had met when she’d first visited this city? Where was her boy? She had to find him. She takes a step forward, ready to burn down a city foolish enough to extinguish a Beacon, let alone one as exquisite as...

“Joan!” the incubus shouts. “Joan! Remember, you have to remember!”

Mark, she was doing this for Mark. And she was not a creature of the desert, but a human woman.

The magic sighs. The desert at night. Cold night air. More stars than she’d ever seen, brighter, blazing, moving and dancing in time.

Then, even that shifted and fell away, until she was in the backyard of her childhood, its colors steeped in gold. And there in the grass, still singed by the ifrit and Mark playing with fire, is herself as a young girl.

Wire-rimmed glasses, black hair long and frizzy. But she doesn’t remember wearing it in a high pony tail, or wearing an over-sized hoody like that, or tinted lip balm that was so tinted it bordered on lipstick. She looked like a teenager trying to be older than she was, without thinking of the responsibilities that came with age.

Excuse me_, you know who I am. I’m Joanie, and it’s about time you came._ The girl, Joanie, says.

“What?”

_This is the center of ourselves. I’ve been trying to show you for so long, but you wouldn’t _ listen _ to me._

“The Bryant stubbornness.”

_I know. _ Joanie rubs the back of her hand against her mouth, smudging the lip balm. _But it meant I was lonely all this time._

The landscape ripples like a mirage, and even though the girl’s face is serious, Joan still feels the ache. Like when her first boyfriend had broken up with her because she was too serious for him. Or when she realized Mark marrying Sam meant he didn’t need her like he used to.

Joan’s palms tingle and her eyes sting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she replies.

_And n__ow you do._ _W__ill you __let me grow now? There are so many things I want to try and do._

Joan steps forward and takes her smaller hand. She’s crying molten and lava. The girl steps into her arms, warm and smelling of Cucumber Melon lotion.

_Better late than never_, she says gently. _Let’s go save Mark, okay?_

“Okay,” Joan agrees.

* * *

Joan returns to the present, in the hidden heart of the Association, bright sky overhead, not a cloud in the sky.

“Joan!”

“You stupid man, running into that fire isn’t going to do you any good, but by all means, immolate yourself if you think it’s wise.”

Fire separates her from Damien and Wadsworth. She can’t see past it’s blue tinge, but she can feel them. Damien’s heart easily warm and plush, and Wadsworth’s strength centered not in her power but her will.

And to her right, the ifrit, calmer now, but still very powerful. A bull-shaped stretch of night sky, gold inlaid at its horns, glittering down to its joints. It merely watches her, no shove of power or magic.

(_We could still eat him,_ the voice in her insists, _but Mark and him _ _are friends_ _._)

At the thought of Mark, she feels her connection to him. Even though he’s still burned out, there’s something linking them now that she can feel. And next to him is Sam’s familiar magic, like a cozy campfire.

“Mark is fine.”

The ifrit’s gaze flashes white as its magic roams the grounds. “Yes,” it replies with a small voice, “I see his valkyrie wife with him.”

Her curiosity gets the better of her. “You couldn’t see him before. What changed?”

“You, Beacon kin.”

It extends its magic, and a spark jumps from it to Mark, lending Mark some of its strength. Then it turns its gaze to Wadsworth.

“Should I eat her?”

Joan considers it but shakes her head. “No, Mark wouldn’t like it.”

She senses its amusement and disappointment, but it abides by her suggestion.

“Thank you. I do not enjoy being used by Lightkeepers, and I would have liked even less harming others.”

Before Joan can say _you’re welcome_, the ifrit begins changing shape. Its body folds like a piece of paper, smaller and smaller, until it’s a very ordinary looking desert hare. Its magic would be undetectable if she hadn’t just consumed so much of it. It flicks its black-rimmed ears at her, bounds through the fire to gnaw at Wadsworth’s shoes, then bounces away towards Mark.

The fire wall snuffs out, and with it, the high of devouring so much magic. Her entire body an electric buzz, still sparking and spitting. She hears her own voice again.

_You won’t put me away and ignore me anymore, okay?_

“I won’t.”

_Okay. _ A pause. _Can you do something for me?_

“What?”

_Damien’s magic tastes nice, I like the way he feels here._

Joan gets a flash of Joanie holding Damien’s hand. She’s not sure how that happened, but she can feel the affection and shy attraction she has for him. There’s even a moment where Joanie tried to kiss him, and Damien had given her his cheek instead. How Joanie just wanted him all the more for it, wanted –

She senses Damien’s interest, piqued by her desire.

_He’s hot, I like him, kiss him some more._

Remembering her own kisses with him, the way his tongue piercing was actually fun, and how she’d considered biting it, she watches Damien shiver in response.

“Alright_.”_

Alright_._


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation with Wadsworth draws to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 21, “Impressive, truly.”

Like the tide receding swiftly, the swift pulse of magic leaves Joan. Her knees hit the ground, but the fall doesn’t hurt at all; peonies and rosemary cushion her fall. The scent of jasmine is thick, as if the whole…

Yes, the field is covered again in flowers, nothing burnt at all. Jasmine growing wild and thick, sunflowers taller than her peering down at her. Marigolds and poppies and laurel tree sprouting.

Something rustles through the sunflower stalks, and then Wadsworth’s face fills her vision. Feels her cool hand cup her face.

“You were _magnificent_ Joan,” she says. “Impressive, truly. We suspected you and Mark were twin Beacons, but you surpassed all of our expectations.”

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Damien growls from nearby.

“Oh, how _scary_ Robert.”

Joan feels the anger simmering under his skin, how close he is to ripping Wadworth off of her. That’s new.

Wadsworth traces a rune in the air, keeping Damien away just a little longer. He snarls (he doesn’t like being kept from what’s his).

“You think the worst of me Joan,” she croons. “Believe me, I don’t enjoy this. But one day, Joan, regardless of how you feel about me, you’ll thank me. There are scarier things than me in this world, and we need more Beacons like you.”

Her hands slide off of  Joan’s face,  and  then  she walks through a rune-scaped door that wasn’t there a moment ago. The bitch; she had a way out of this the whole time, and she’d just  _stood_ there watching her like some kind of science experiment.

Anger heats her blood, makes her magic bubble, but her body is tired and  now even her knees can’t hold her up .

Damien rushes in, catching her before her head hits the ground.

“Joan? _Joan!”_

His body is familiar, the taste of his magic more so. She remembers how she woke up this morning. Thinks it wouldn’t be a bad way to spend her mornings… His concern mellows for a moment to male satisfaction. She’ll tell him she’s fine in just a moment…

Tugging his arm and his magic around her, she closes her eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan keeps her promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 28, “I felt it. You know what I mean.”

Joan comes to in the dark and wants to go straight back to sleep. But a lone ray of sunshine filters through a small gap in the curtains. She’d usually be awake if it was sunny, so why is she so tired?

Damien’s tangled up in her, his hand on her belly and leg hooked around her, but she isn’t sore from sex or growing pains. More like her body was a deep knot that had finally been released. What had she been…

Tapping into her magic, she’s surprised how quickly she plummets, how deep she can go. How even in the fathoms of it, she can feel Damien, a velvet rope around her so she can always find her way back from...

It comes back to her, then. Joan reaches out for Mark. Instead of a distant awareness of him, she’s met with the full blaze of him. She can tell he’s tired, but she can also sense the steel of Sam’s magic (is he linked to her? He must be…) Mark’s magic crackles warmly, like he’s squeezing her hand.

As she lets go of the  bond between her and Mark, magic ripple s back through her, and something  stirs in her. 

A voice, small with sleep say s, ... _R_ _emember, you _ promised _ me_ .

Damien rolls across the bed, gropes around the nightstand, knocking items onto the floor in the process. Then he tosses her phone onto her chest with a thud. “Your phone’s been blowing up.”

“You didn’t tell the appropriate people I was fine?” She rubs the seam of her ribs.

“Why would I?” He flops back into bed, scootching close to her. “Can you reply now so we can get back to bed?”

He presses his face into the side of her breast, moving her bra ever so slightly. The underwire digging beneath her armpit tells her she’s still in yesterday’s clothes. Her blouse twists uncomfortably around her. She wriggles her feet; at least he took off her shoes.

Damien mumbles something, then slides his fingers up her shirt.

She looks at her phone. Battery at 35% and missed calls and text messages fill her screen.

Vanessa: _Chloe’s home safe. Drinks on me when I’m in the city next._

Owen: _Let’s talk at your earliest convenience. Big changes afoot._

She arches her back enough for him to unhook her bra. He manages with one hand, and the relief is instant.

Chloe: _No one followed me home, and I made sure to lose any tails I had. Safe and sound with Mom!_

Caleb: _Lantern (Beacon?) Bright, you know how you kept telling me to tell Adam we were mates..._

Damien rubs his thumb against the tender, red skin. It stings a little, but it still feels pleasant.

Sam: _You were right __Joan__. It was as easy as breathing._

Mark: _I’m fine joanie. w/ sam resting up. __[thumbs up emoji] [bed emoji]_

_hey, u ok?_

_Joanie, pls call me?_

_Where r u?_

_Damien says ur at his place? Pls let me know you’re ok, ok? (How did he even get my #??)_

Joan sets the phone on her stomach and closes her eyes, reaches back out to Mark and lets her magic crackle against him the way he did hers. She senses his surprise and relief.

“Mark knows I’m okay.”

Damien covers the phone’s screen with his palm. He grumbles about its brightness, then mumbles “That the magical guitar playing you did?”

“What?”

He uses her stomach as an air guitar. “You were tapping magic like they were guitar strings.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes.”

“...so… does this mean you’re up now?”

He presses hard into the bra mark hard enough she hisses. “You into that kind of thing?” he continues.

She knows how this goes. He teases, she taunts, he seduces. Just as they had before. But things were different now.

... _you promised_ ...

She made it through the day,  M ark was safe, and her fear of Beacon-hood for him and her were moot now. All that effort and worry and struggle, gone.  D one. 

And here she was next to Damien who she’ d been  putting off, trying to keep him close enough for ease, but never as close as he wanted to get.

S he kept her promises, and she wouldn’t run from herself. She could be honest.

“I’m tired of fighting,” Joan says. And it takes a great deal for her to admit it. “I’m tired of being afraid for Mark, tired of hiding my own potential – I always wanted to advance in the Association and stifling my own magic and ambition killed that. Although, I suppose that was a good thing, given what Wadsworth was up to.”

Damien props himself up. He, too, is still in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, sleep in his eyes and the imprint of the sheets across his cheek.

“And what else?” He shifts his hand to grab her hip.

Turning onto her side, she meets his gaze. “I’m tired of fighting this too. I felt it. You know what I mean.”

She takes his hand, and places it over her clothes and her heart. She can feel it more keenly now, the bond between them. Before, it was a distant awareness of him, similar to how she could feel her wards’ general presence when they were within her range. But now it’s a compass pointing straight to him. A rope of water droplets, frozen stars, and velvet, his magic within reach, teasing her appetite.

He’s silent.

Oh fine, she could stroke his ego. The honesty was good for her anyway. She continues, “I can feel the bond between us. It’s not new, only stronger; you’ve been feeding it this whole time.” She slides him a glance, and the satisfied quirk of his mouth is answer enough. “The way you experience magic is beautiful. There’s a part of me that wants to drink and drink of your magic.

I haven’t had anything that was mine, just for myself. And while you can be an insufferable prick at times, I want this. I want to give it a try.”

He licks his bottom lip, piercing showing. She feels his smug satisfaction thrumming through the bond.

“I’ll make a succubus of you yet,” he grins.

“I have some loose ends I need to tie up first though.”

He sighs, long suffering. “I’ve suffered the longest case of blue balls ever recorded for an incubus waiting for you. So I suppose a couple more hours weren’t hurt.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Does my best girl have a couple of minutes before she has to save the world though? You did promise to kiss me better, and I am mortally hurt.” He pouts, blinking his eyelashes at her.

The press of his wants is clearer now, she can taste his precum in her mouth.

She sighs. “If I must.”

But first, she kisses him, because she did promise after all.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes afoot at the Association.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 11, “But I will never forget!”

Joan falls back onto the bed, dazed at the pleasure buzzing through her.

“Is this what it’s like for you?” she asks him.

He snorts, a sense memory coming through the bond, how her tongue felt pressed into the underside of his cock. Her toes curl yet again. She could definitely revise her opinion of fellatio if she always got echoes of what it felt like to him.

Slapping his thigh, she pulls the sheet over them.

“...why are these sheets Batman sheets?”

Damien doesn’t deign to reply.

She begins looking around the room. There are still blackout curtains, but the furniture is nicer than his apartment, the cabinets’ staining worn from use, and the room is much smaller. There’s even a Polaroid taped over his alarm clock of him as a kid, with writing underneath about taking a baby home from the trash can?

“This isn’t your apartment.”

“Nah.”

“...so where are we?”

“My Ma’s.”

Why he called his mother _Ma_ was a question for later. “...you didn’t tell me your family was here.”

“Why would I?”

“I would’ve been quieter for one!”

He smirks, “I don’t care.”

“How am I going to leave now,” she grumbles, then grabs a pillow and puts it over her face.

Reaching for her bare skin (her shirt had disappeared; the feedback of receiving head may have convinced her to let him have his way and come over her breasts), he gets her off of him by tickling her. She can’t stifle the laughter as she curls against his fingers.

“You’re going?” he asks as she swallows the last of the joy.

“Something’s happening at the Association and they’re calling everyone in.”

“Just skip it. You dunno what they’re gonna do to you after burglarizing them.”

“That’s exactly why I need to go. I need to get ahead of whatever rumor Wadsworth is spinning about me. And they can’t black bag me or Mark now. The whole city knows we’re Beacons.”

“Whole region,” he corrects proudly. “Well, I guess they better know you’re already spoken for.”

Squeezing her hip, he dips his head down. The sharp suck of his lips leaving no doubt what he was doing.

“Stop,” she tries to say firmly, but instead it’s more of a sigh. He pushes his palm against her clit, and she’s wound up enough from performing oral sex on him that she grinds against him.

When he removes his hand well before she’s ready to come, she glares at him.

Looking up from his messy bedhead curls, he smiles, “Now you’re ready for your meeting.”

“Most women put on heels and makeup before a meeting,” she notes dryly.

Pulling the pillowcase off the pillow that reads _POW! _and _BLAM!,_ she wipes herself and the cups of her bra as best she can.

“Jerk,” she ribs.

“You love it,” he snorts. Then he shoves her out of the bed, “Go save the world or whatever workaholics like you do. I, meanwhile, am going to sleep.”

* * *

After leaving Damien’s mother’s home without running into anyone (she’s not sure if she’s relieved at the easy escape or disappointed), it takes her half an hour to arrive at her apartment from the quiet suburb. Damien might think a hickey was work attire, but she wasn’t going in without a shower, fresh clothes, and concealer.

From her house, it’s only ten minutes to the Association thanks to an odd streak of green lights.

The place is chaotic when she arrives, cars double parked everywhere, and the police directing civilian traffic elsewhere. Joan can also sense a number of supernaturals on the periphery, likely waiting to see what would happen. The cop has a small gift of magic, and he takes one look at her and waves her through quickly.

The inside of the Association isn’t much better. The floor is full of muddy footprints, some of which run in long skids, likely from slipping on the loose paperwork. Personnel is running around, hands full of artifacts from the Vault, or shoving reports into someone else’s face.

“Joan!” a voice yells. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Mags emerges from the rush, still in yesterday’s clothes, and grabs Joan into a tight hug. Joan’s ribs creak, but she pats her back.

Quickly pushing Joan back, Mag asks wide-eyed, “Oh, um, I guess that’s Beacon Bright now? But there’re two of you and you’re older, so maybe Senior Beacon Bright...”

“Mags, Joan is just fine.”

“Oh, okay, phew, I’ll go tell the others now!”

She jogs towards the crowd of younger Lightkeepers, then pivots. “Oh! Owen wants to see you in the cafeteria!”

* * *

The cafeteria isn’t in much better condition. Groups of Lightkeepers and librarians huddle over tables as the cooks churn out omelets. Judging by the smell, they’re pouring coffee and hard liquor into mugs.

Owen’s head of dark hair blends into the crowd, but he stops her immediately and waves her over. The rest of his tablemates eye her with blatant interest, but move over to another table. So much for privacy.

Joan stands besides Owen’s table. “Why here?”

He slides a coffee cup to her, turning the handle towards her. He’d always been good at those small touches.

He looks like he hasn’t gone home. His shirt is usually pressed and starched, but it’s wrinkled now, and his bow tie nowhere to be seen. Had the Association used the emergency barracks to house the employees?

“The labs, holding pens, and nearby wings are all overgrown with plants, and Halle said no one worth their salt would mess with it, and if we tried it’d be on our heads.” And those wings included sensitive areas like the Vault.

“She came to snoop.”

As the head of the green witches, Halle would certainly tell her coven what she’d seen here.

“Yes,” he replies, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Joan didn’t either.

“How can I help? Do you need to take my statement?” She eyes the Lanterns glancing at her furtively, now returning their gaze to their coffee cups.

“No. We all know what happened.”

Owen knows her tells as well, and he sees her face darken. He adds, “We don’t know what happened to the missing Lanterns and supernaturals. But we will do our best to make amends to their families.”

“That’s a start.” She sips her coffee.

“Additionally, Ellie tendered her resignation, effective immediately.”

Joan barely manages to avoid spitting her coffee out, but her sinuses still burn from the coffee she nearly inhaled.

“That is...not what I expected.”

“...and Head Lantern Wadsworth stipulated both you and I were to co-lead.”

“Co-led Associations isn’t something the U.S. has done since declaring Independence.”

“Highly unusual, I agree, but either Wadsworth pushed the paperwork through abnormally fast or – ”

“--she had this planned in advance. ...the bitch.”

Owen sighs.

They sit in silence for a moment, drinking their coffee. He passes the white porcelain with creamer to her.

“Head Lantern Wadworth did leave behind some of her notes.”

“How much can we trust them?” She pours the cream until the coffee begins to change colors.

“I don’t know, but this may be the closest thing to an answer we can get.”

Owen opens up the manila folder next to him to stationary stamped with a letterhead reading _The Order, _and sets it in front of her.

“We work for the _Association_, and these people are the_ Order?_ Can’t they come up with more original names?”

Owen patiently waits, and Joan knows their must be more. She continues scanning the pages, Wadsworth’s proposals and notations on Beacons follow, along with polite but short replies from the Order.

“It didn’t matter to her whether she had me or Mark, did it? She just wanted a Beacon to get this Order’s attention and she got it.”

“It seems so. I’m sorry Joan, for what it’s worth, I didn’t realize...”

If they start this now, Joan’s not sure when she’ll stop. So she redirects the conversation. “Why would I even want to head this godforsaken place? I will never forget it took Mark.”

“That’s exactly why you’re the right person. I may have been working directly with her and know the ins and outs of this place, but you won’t have our same blind spots.

“Besides, even if you declined to be fast-tracked, you’re well-regarded by your peers. Respected. _I _respect you. We make a good team.”

A sharp reply is on her tongue about how little that means when  _how many_ knew what Wadsworth was doing here with the kidnappings. 

(A small part of her wonders what she would’ve done, had she been in Owen’s position, and it hadn’t been Mark stolen.)

She sets her coffee mug down, turns the handle to the side.

In a low voice, so the eavesdroppers can’t hear, she says,  “Owen, I want to be very clear.  I’m seeing someone else. And even if Damien and I don’t work out, y ou and I  will only ever be colleagues.”

“I’m aware,” he replies evenly. And bless the man, he doesn’t do any of the male bullshit posturing Damien would’ve done here.

“Alright, let’s get to business then.”

* * *

Joan and Owen discuss staffing. And by the time they’re done discussing who to keep, who to fire, who to reach out to, and who might leave anyway, they’re both exhausted.

Owen concedes defeat first, “Joan, not even a 911 espresso isn’t going to help me stay awake. And your body’s just gone through a major change, not to mention trying to break Mark out.”

Not wanting to discuss either of those points, Joan takes her leave. She could drive to wherever Damien is. She could find him anywhere now. Let him draw her into bed, into himself. But she needs a moment to herself.

When she unlocks her apartment, there are still dishes drying in the dishwasher from their late night with Sam, a take out menu for Burmese food on the fridge.

She changes into her pajamas, a lion onesie Mark had bought them as a matching set. Despite how foolish she felt in it, she’d kept it, because she loved it had been a gift from Mark.

Pulling the lion hood over her head, she goes to sleep.

* * *

She dreams of the Association, stone walls grown with jasmine and ivy. In the open plain at the heart of it, grass waves in the wind, a chair waiting for her among the sunflowers.

The grass ripples and the sky turns above her. Night with its cape of stars chases away the sun, and she falls onto silk sheets.

“Found you,” Damien says, grabbing her wrist. “You didn’t come home.”

Turning her head to look at him, he’s in red plaid pajamas, and it looks odd on him. “I told you I had business to take care of.”

Pouting, he replies, “Business _and _pleasure is way more fun. I like the kigurumi.”

He unzips her onesie, and as the warm summer air meets her skin, she realizes she’s braless. Of course he’d try to sex her up here; he didn’t understand the notion of personal space.

“C’mon babe,” he encourages, breath against the space between her breasts. Then his tongue piercing circles her nipple until it peaks.

Grabbing a fistful of his hair near the roots, she pulls his head back. His pleasure is written across his slack jaw and wet lips. “I wanted everything tied up neatly, because I suspect once I go back to you, you’ll keep me occupied.”

He opens one eye, and the corner of his mouth kicks up. Using dream magic, he ties both her wrists in velvet, and pulls her towards him.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he replies smugly.

It wouldn’t do for him to be so smug though. She imagines herself holding the rope.

The sunflowers bend their heads towards her, and the dream ripples. Joan straddles Damien’s waist, his limbs tied spread-eagle to the now-four-postered bed. Wrapped around her fist is a velvet leash, hooked to the collar around his throat.

Damien pulls at the ropes, then tips his head back. “What the fuck.”

Joan blinks in surprise. This was new. Shaping dreams had never been her strength; lucid dreaming had been hard enough for her. Perhaps this was new, just like being able to feel his simmering sexual excitement?

And it is there. His arousal a thick slow run of beneath his veins, but it’s not what he _wants_. Was this the skill that made him an incubus, the see through the superficial level of desire to what lay closes to one’s heart at a given moment? 

She doesn’t know how to give him something more binding than rope or chains or whatever bondage involved.

But perhaps it wasn’t sex he wanted at all. She thinks of what kind of man has Batman sheets and still calls his mother Ma in all seriousness.

She imagines taking an eraser across the ropes, and they disappear inch by inch.

“Wow, much finesse, very skill,” his mouth says, but his fingers trace where the collar once was.

She tumbles onto the bed, petals flying into the air, dissolving into stars. She shoves at his reluctant body, then imagines he’s as light as the flowers, and rolls him onto his side.

“Geez, lady, shove me around.”

Remembering how tightly he held her when she stayed in bed with him, she kicks her ankle over his shin, shoves a knee between his thighs, and wraps her arm under his waist (the benefits of dreams: her limbs wouldn’t fall asleep).

He wriggles, trying to get his cock closer to her hand against his belly. She slaps his stomach with her free hand, then squeezes him even tighter.

He slowly relaxes, and while not the fast hit of lust, there’s something fizzy, like carbonated water about this desire.

“Not fair,” he mumbles.

“Shh,” she says into the knobs of his spine.

He squirms one more time, and she thinks of slapping his penis this time, but she realizes he’s lining up his butt to her hips.

Huh. She hasn’t been big spoon in awhile. She’d have to remember how this went instead of smacking him.

Damien’s breathing slows, and he falls asleep, quiescent in her arms. Feeling the slow, even fall of his stomach beneath her palm, and his flannel soft against her forehead, she, too, drifts to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Mark and Sam’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 29, “At least it can’t get any worse.”
> 
> The Beacon lore here is inspired by Nalini Singh’s Psy-Changeling series, particularly _Kiss of Snow_.

Pulling up to Sam and Mark’s apartment is a strange experience. Everything looks the same, but it _feels_ different. She’s keenly aware of Mark there, the bright blaze of him hidden by Sam’s magic. It’s strange to share this part of Mark with someone else. Is this how Mark feels about her as well? Was her own magic bleeding into Damien’s, making each of them less noticeable to others?

The bond between her and Mark jingles like Christmas bells, as if he’s telling her to stop stewing and hurry up already.

When she knocks on the door, Sam answers, greeting her with a great big hug.

Behind them, Mark is pleading with Sam’s cat, Darwin, “_Please_ let me stand.”

Joan peaks over Sam’s shoulder. Every time Mark tries to stand up from the couch, Darwin leaps onto his shoulders, his tail swooshing right over Mark’s eyes.

“Yikes,” Sam notes, “Let me grab him.”

She pulls Darwin off of Mark, holding him firmly in her arms. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s decided Mark is better than any of my books or laptop to sit on.”

Darwin’s tail swishes, but he lets Sam hold him anyway.

With Mark free, Joan toes her shoes off and goes to him.

He stands, and Joan can see that even with some time to recover, he looks bad. He’s lost weight, his cheekbones jutting out, and how much magic had Wadsworth made him expend that his magic had begun to eat at his body?

“Dang sis, the glowing Beacon look’s a good look on you.”

“Mark, what did she _do_ to you?” her voice breaks.

“Hey, at least things can’t get any worse. They can only get better from here out.” 

Tears escape her, and she lets the sobs out. Grabbing Mark, she holds him tight. And he holds her back even more tightly.

“Joanie, it’s alright, okay? Samin offered me a ton of magic but said I might be on fire for the next week if I accepted, so I declined. It’s cool I’m this burnt.”

She laughs wetly into his shoulder.

“How did you even meet it anyway?”

“Samin? He showed up lost in the school crosswalk in fifth grade looking for his sister in the garden. He was here this week for her wedding, and being so far from his land made him weaker. I gave him some of the magic I’d stored from Kiki, and he went on his way a couple of days ago.”

She doesn’t ask who Kiki is, or why an ifrit would have been in their school garden. Those questions could wait for another day.

He herds her to the couch. The cushions are thin, and Joan will have to buy them a new one as a wedding present.

Darwin jumps out of Sam’s arms and onto Joan’s lap, kneading her thighs.

“I guess he’s your guys’ now,” Sam remarks dryly.

Joan tentatively pets Darwin’s head. Slowly closing his eyes, he begins purring.

Sam flexes her fingers as her toes curl against the beige carpet. “I had a chance to read the book on Beacons I got yesterday.”

Joan glances at Mark, and he shrugs. “She already told me about this.” Taking Joan’s hand, he squeezes it.

“So, it turns out it used to be common knowledge Beacons came in multiples. This particular scholar thought it was a failsafe. Not even a Beacon can summon and dismiss a powerful supernatural without a couple days’ rest.”

“So if you had someone else with you,” Joan thinks aloud, “they could mitigate things if it got out of control.”

Sam nods. “I think Head Lantern Wadsworth suspected this. Nature and magic seeks balance.”

“She deliberately hurt Mark so he would summon the ifrit.”

“Sounds ‘bout right,” Mark says quietly. With his hand nearly crushing hers, Joan knows there’s so much he isn’t saying.

“Why did she take Mark though?”

Sam and Mark share a look. It’s Mark who says, “Your wards aren’t powerful enough.”

Joan’s mind begins to put the pieces together. “It was you the powerful ones were always drawn to,” she says slowly.

“I was just more willing to be friends with them,” he gently corrects. “And if being a better friend meant becoming stronger for them, I did that. Besides, until two days ago, I was the only Beacon.”

Joan remembers what Wadsworth had said before she left. “She wanted me to become a Beacon. She said it was necessary.”

“What could she...”

Sam’s nose scrunches up “There is a half-finished translation that the Israeli Association’s been working on. They’re debating what _consuming_ a Beacon means, but funding has been tight.”

She leaves unsaid that eating someone was a very old way of consuming someone’s power and magic.

If Mark was going to be _eaten, _Joan hopes Sam’s up to the task of defending him.

“This can wait until later!” Mark interjects. “So, Joan I see you got some new upgrades with this Beacon gig!”

Sam’s face brightens. “I can feel Damien’s magic around you now.”

“That’s something you can notice?” Joan asks in surprise.

Darwin’s claws prick at her thighs, and Joan resumes petting his neck. His comforting purr reminds her to relax the muscles in her legs.

“Yeah. I didn’t notice it before, but it could’ve been because you were shielding Mark.” But her face clearly says that’s not what she thinks.

“I can feel the link between you and Mark, but that’s because Mark and I are linked. I wonder how far along the web you could feel...” Joan muses.

“Nuh-uh,” Mark continues, pointing his finger at her. “We’re talking about you and your boy toy. Have you decided to incubus-marry him?”

Both Sam and Joan correct him. “It’s bonding.”

“Feels pretty close to it to me,” he says.

Joan opens her mouth, then Mark quickly adds, “I don’t wanna know the finer details, you and Sam can talk about that. I just want you to be happy. So does he?”

“Does he what?”

“Make you happy?” he repeats like it’s the most obvious thing.

She think about telling them what she told Damien, that she wants to give it a shot. How she didn’t mind waking up next to him, or how it’d been nice to have some unpredictability in her life. She hesitates though, feeling this is something she should talk to Damien about first.

“We’re not you and Sam,” is what she says instead.

“You don’t have to be,” Sam pipes in, drawing closer to Mark, hand reaching out to him.

Linking his fingers with hers, Mark pulls her into his lap.

“You just have to be you, Joanie,” he says.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan works out the details of her … relationship with Damien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 30, “Do we really have to do this again?” 
> 
> Damien’s [underwear](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01G6QLXS4/?tag=astb-20).

After Sam tries to feed Mark, and Mark tries to pawn it off on Joan like she’s a dog, Joan decides it’s time to go.

As she stands on doorstep of their apartment complex, Joan carefully types out, _Where are you?_ to Damien. She decides against it though; he doesn’t give her the courtesy of advance notice before his intrusions.

Once she’s sitting in the comfort of her air conditioned car,  she closes her eyes, imagining the city as a body of water. A lake, she decides. She imagines her magic as a ripple,  and it sweeps much further than she’s been able to before. How far could she reach now? All the sparkling points in the water were supernaturals and magic users of some sort, but they all felt different, like tadpoles and lilies and… This isn’t what she planned on doing, focus. 

Reaching for the familiar feel of Damien, her hand grasps  soft fabric and her senses rush along it, mapping it along with her sense of the city right  _there..._

Intriguing.

Withdrawing her magic sense, she b ack s out of her parking spot, waving at the car that lets her merge into traffic . She has to stop a couple more times  following the direction she feels Damien in , since she hasn’t doesn’t have enough control of this skill to do it while driving. Eventually the buildings chang e from painted signages to neon lights and slick billboards, and she’s certain she’s headed towards his apartment.

While Damien was fine showing up unexpectedly, Joan at least wouldn’t come empty-handed.

Pulling over one last time, she wracks her memory from the morning. The takeout bag Damien had brought had set next to dirty cups and it’d read in cheerful magenta font…  it had read _Keiko’s_. She Googles the address, and just as she suspected, it’s in his neighborhood.

She arrives at the door of Damien’s apartment holding two full bags from Keiko’s, spicy garlic for her and the fattiest tonkatsu ramen for him. She’d asked the waitress if he was a regular, and she’d nodded. After a generous tip, the waitress also told her what his usual side orders were too. Of course he’d be one of the weirdos who enjoyed solving a puzzle to drink his water, so she’d bought a Ramune as well.

Setting one of her steaming bags on the concrete, she rings the doorbell.

She hears him moving (she doesn’t feel the pulse of his magic drawing closer, though, it must only be in general relation and not exact?).

He opens the door and slouches against the door frame. He tries to say, “What,” but then lapses into a yawn.

Joan merely stares. The only article of clothing on him are the wolf briefs she’d bought him as retribution for his gifts to her. The wolf’s muzzle was printed right over his penis, making the wolf’s face three-dimensional.

“You did _not_,” she gapes.

Drawing himself up and away from the door frame, he proudly says, “I did.”

“I don’t think this is something most people would be proud of.”

“That’s what my sister said, but what does she know? She’s seventeen and thinks grass jelly belongs in desserts.”

“It does display your… assets.”

“You can say penis you know.”

Sighing, she lifts the bag she set down. “Will you please invite me in?”

He motions her in, then runs his hand through his unbrushed hair. She’s half tempted to sit him down and force him to brush it.

Leaving her shoes under the drawer full of chotskies, she follows him into his kitchen. She’s still amazed at how expensive it is, but there’s no denying it’s beautiful. 

Together they unpack the bags at his table, Damien nearly salivating over the food. Joan picks at her food while Damien demolishes his. He demands she eat more, and she rolls her eyes but eats some of the agedashi tofu. When Damien’s starting to slow down, Joan figures it’s as good a time as any to catch Damien up.

“I’m accepting the position of running this region’s Association with Owen,” she announces.

“Your ex?”

She’d expected him to ask her why, or point out now was her chance to break free of them, but not this.

“I reiterated to him that we would be coworkers and nothing more.”

His scowl eases slightly. “Oh? It’s pretty clear he’s still into you.”

“I’m otherwise taken.” And Owen would respect the clear line in the sand she’d made with him.

He smirks, setting his chopsticks down. “Are you asking me to go steady with you Joan?”

“Yes.”

He raises his eyes, but doesn’t skip a beat. “Can I send you to work full of my cum?”

Staring at him, she taps her heels and makes a mental note of his jealousy. Then she says, “I’m sure we could find a compromise.”

He beams. “Attagirl. I knew you had some freaky shit in you. We wouldn’t be a good match otherwise.”

“Is that what dating is to you?”

Pushing his chair back with a loud scrape, he gleefully prowls from his side of the table to hers.

“I’m so glad you asked. I want a lot of things, Joan: good food, great sex, easy supply to both. A good life.” He looks at her, and honestly it’d be easier if he just leered at her. “A good woman by my side, and you’re a much better person than you give yourself credit for. It’s hard to find someone who can handle all of me.”

Did he really just say he was interested in her because he thought he couldn’t sex her out? She doesn’t know if she should be angry or flattered.

Stepping behind her, he sets his hands, warm from cupping the bowl of ramen on her shoulders. “Besides,” he continues, “Don’t you want someone in your life Joan, someone that sees all of you and stays anyway? Finds those parts of you worthwhile anyway? I’m the closest thing you’ve got.” His palms begin sliding down the slope of her breasts.

She thinks of the people in her life, mostly her wards, all still so young and busy with things like first love and college. Sam had started as one of them, and they’d become friends, but she knows things will change once she and Mark are married. There’s Mark, of course.

_Jesus_, she thinks, realizing how few people she had in her life while protecting Mark.

“Yes,” she admits to herself, “you are.”

His hands stop just as his fingers dip under her teal blouse.

“I want you,” she says carefully, deliberately.

He grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around, forces her to looks at him, genuine surprise on his face. “Have you never let yourself want anything, just for yourself?”

“I,” she takes deep breathe.

He shakes his head. “I can feel all of your wants, and you forget I’ve been in your dreams. There’re more to dreams than just sex.”

She remembers holding him in a sunflower field.

He continues, “There’s so much _want_ in you, if only you’d let it.”

She gives a small smile. “I had to, to become a Beacon.”

“Oh?” he looks intrigued, as if she’s presented him with a new game. “Then tell me, what do you want?”

“I’m not about to say your dick is god’s gift to mankind,” she says dryly.

“What about me being a better fuck than Owen?”

“Do we really have to do this again?” she replies archly. “I thought you got all your posturing done with him already, and I made it clear that...” 

He must’ve rubbed off on her, because she realizes perhaps she’s being too direct, and she should instead be a little devious. Even though this may be the worst come on she’s ever made in her life, she says, “I might need to re-evaluate your abilities.”

His smile is what the wolf must’ve been like before pouncing upon Red Riding Hood. He closes in on her, and she pulls his hands over her chest again. He resumes his position behind her chair again.

Humming, he slides his hands down her shirt again. And the warmth of his skin _is_ nice.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and it’s totally off-key to what he’s humming, but it doesn’t matter.

“Now then, what do we have here?” he muses.

“Someone who just went through a stressful forty-eight hours and could use some old fashioned stress relief.” God, if she stuck around with him, she would either die of mortification from these come ons or inure herself to them. She isn’t sure which is worse.

( _Being alone is worse_ , a small  part of hers corrects.)

His laughter brushes the top of her hair.

“Funny, I did too. There was this girl, and I laid a fucking challenge at her feet,” his hand winds its way through her hair, “and I’ve been waiting to see if she was gonna back down or not.”

Pulling her head back, he looks down at her, her mouth parted, cheeks starting to flush.

“Nice. Good to know my charms work on Beacons. I do hate to disappoint,” he purrs.

His other hand tweaks her nipple, and the sharp pinch has her knees knocking against one another.

“Are you going to put your mouth to work or is talking all you do?” her voice is raspy at this angle, but that’s fine.

He nips at the muscle of her shoulder.

“Your wish is my command, Little Miss Beacon Who Could.”

The reminder of her new status unsettles her, and he must sense it. He lets off enough of his magic to set sparks against her skin to persuade her it’s not all bad. The reaction is stronger now. Even with so little of his magic, it still feels like water against hot oil, except instead of burn marks the small places where his magic touches hers feel as sensitive as her clit.

She pulls down the neckline of her silk shell, directing him towards her neck. Instead, his head dips to just below her hairline, across the C6 vertebrae. It’s never been a sensitive area, but he flicks a touch of magic there, lifting the hairs on her skin.

He blows lightly there, and she shudders from the neck down, trying hard to keep her head still. He nibbles his way up and down the slim stretch of spine, and there’s no reason it should be erogenous, or make her struggle to keep her breathing even.

“You’ve made your point,” she chokes out.

He rewards her capitulation with redirecting his mouth towards the soft of her neck. She sighs at the familiar swipe of his tongue, tipping her head to the side. But the wet pull of his mouth is absent, and he draws back too soon.

A small noise of protest escapes her.

“Now be a good girl and stay put.”

She huffs and watches quizzically as he grabs a bowl and fork from his kitchen, and pushes the noodles out of her container into the bowl.

He steps back to her with the container full of broth.

“What are you doing?”

He sticks out his tongue. “You taste like makeup. Why’d you cover the hickies up?”

“I was going to the Association. Hickies aren’t part of the image.”

His pout is too well-rehearsed to be natural. “If you’d just brought me with you, it wouldn’t have been an issue. They wouldn’t have noticed it.”

“Because you’d eat them out of house and home?”

Rolling his eyes, and cocking his hip, he replies, “Because I can make them avoid looking at the hickies.”

She thinks this over, remembers the museum he’d first found her in. She hadn’t given it much thought then, but this wasn’t a traditional application of an incubus’ talent.

“When you found me in the museum, the room was empty. Would redirecting the Keep’s employees’ attentions have significantly strained you and impacted your performance abilities?”

At his sputter, she smiles and decides to have mercy on him.

She points at the bowl. “So what does that have to do with the concealer I have on?”

“Gonna wash it off,” he mumbles, but his spine straightens as he lets the embarrassment slide off him.

“...”

“C’_mon_ Joanie, have some sense of adventure!”

“This is going to be such a mess, not to mention I like this blouse!”

“Then take it off,” he replies wolfishly. “And I’ll make sure you’re clean by the end,” he adds winking. And for good measure, he dips his finger tips in and flicks it at her.

Looking down at the small spots on her teal shell, she sighs, and pulls it off and sets it on the spare chair. For good measure, she unhooks her bra as well.

His gaze slides down her breasts, the nipples round in his well-heated apartment. “Nice,” he comments, a wide smile splitting his face. “You have really nice tits.”

She shifts her feet. Her most recent lovers hadn’t used language like this. Now, in her college days though…

His smile sharpens. “Whatcha thinking there Joanie? I could feel your mind going somewhere interesting. Do you like it when I talk like that? Betcha Owen didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t,” she confesses.

“Well, then.”

Pushing her chair back, and tossing its magenta cushion to the floor, she wonders what else he could persuade her to do. Things she hadn’t ever thought about doing herself, things she’d daydreamed about as a teen but had dismissed as idle fantasies. Like what it would be like to slip away from class to meet her boyfriend in the clean (it is her fantasy after all) bathroom, or...

“Oh, Joanie, we’re going to have so much fun you and I.”

She braces herself as he steps into her space and pours some of the nearly-too-hot broth over her.

It’s not bad, the salty smell pleasant if unfamiliar on her. 

He pushes the bowl onto the table, then sinks to the floor. Placing his hands on her knees, he parts them and crawls closer.

His dark head of hair dips down, and he starts at her mid drift, where the broth has dripped lowest, then makes his way up. He’s surprisingly thorough, and while this isn’t _Joan’s _thing, she can feel his enthusiasm humming around her.

Even though he’s not trying to use his piercing, she still feels it as he licks broad stripes, sucking the salt at the underside of her breasts. Then he moves up, his hair tickling the space between her breasts. Of course, he gives more time than necessary to her nipples, but she doesn’t complain. Just holds him close, and enjoys the nimble movement of his tongue, the heat of his desire stoking hotter.

He thumbs at the trail of broth on her side, then sits back on his heels, licking his fingers in satisfaction. He’s thinking about emptying the rest of the bowl on her, and she’s not going to sit around in wet cold pants.

Looking down, Joan sees some spots on her slacks. “You missed a spot.”

“Better take your pants off too then.”

He reaches for her zipper, but it’s not in the front, and she enjoys watching his look of confusion as he paws at the smooth fabric.

“Seriously? Did you sew yourself into this?”

That would be a level of theatrics she isn’t into.

Reaching for her left side, she unbuttons it and slides the zipper down.

He sucks his teeth, “Women’s clothes make no sense.”

She wonders how many women he’s unclothed in real life. Then again, fashion was erring towards pull-on skirts or the kind with elastic waistbands.

“But you love it, I think.”

He gives a small smile, then hooks his fingers into the waistband to help her out of them and her panties. As he slips it off her left foot, he sucks its pinky toe.

“Come closer to the edge of the chair,” he says.

She’s not keen on the cold plastic beneath her, but she does want his mouth on her again. That stupid piercing… 

“Wash your hands first,” she admonishes.

“Presumptuous, aren’t we?”

“Predictable, aren’t you?” his smile lights up, and she wonders how far she could push this. She hasn’t sniped with her lovers like this in a long while, and she’d forgotten how fun it was.

He slides to his feet in a fluid motion that makes Joan feel old. His hand-washing is fast but thorough, and he even uses a towel after she lifts an eyebrow when he makes to wipe his hands against his thighs. He jogs back to her in those ridiculous wolf undies, the snout laying funny now that he’s half-hard.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Down, boy,” she commands.

He eagerly goes back to his knees, and after she removes her panties, she rests one foot across his back. He needs no further encouragement, his tongue warm and his piercing a shock against her opening. She hisses, and she feels his mouth shape a smile.

He drags the warm metal up one side of her lips, above her clit, and then back down.

“Seriously?” she complains.

Then he gives the lightest of strokes to her clit. His hands are hot against the inside of her thighs, and the contrast is more appealing than it should be. He kneads her thighs as his tongue continues dancing along her clit.

Wriggling her toes in frustration, she’s taken by surprise when he takes her into his mouth, sucking hard.

Her cry is much louder than she would’ve given otherwise, and he’s determined to wring more from her. His thumb circles her opening, and she presses her heel into him.

He whines, pressing his face into the crease of her hip for a moment, as his other hand lets go. A spike of pleasure has her hips bucking. Was that an echo of him touching himself?

Tipping his head back, he tells her with short pants, “I’m not doing too well if you’re thinking about magic.”

Sucking a mark on her inner thigh, he distracts her from his right hand reaching between her legs, slipping more than a single finger in her (two?); the fit is tight, but she loves the contrast of how she wants this and how her body resists anyway.

At her moan, he resumes licking her clit, doing that thing with his teeth he did last time. She tries to throw her other leg over him, but her toes only find his ribs, and she lets them slide away.

He obligingly helps her though, tossing it over his other shoulder, then resumes going down on her. This time the slow spread of his fingers and the determined pace of his mouth has her pulling him in closer with both her feet and what purchase she can find. She could reach his head if she sat up, but that would mean pulling away from his mouth. Instead, she grips the edges of the chair.

His mouth halts its ministrations, “Owen ever do this for you?”

“Sex in the kitchen? Sure,” she says through clenched teeth.

He takes his fingers out, and their absence is maddening.

“But it wasn’t like this, was it? I bet he was very polite and nice about the whole affair, and when you were done, he zipped you back up.”

That’s a bit too close to the truth.

“I’m not going to do that. I’m gonna let you  sit your ass back here, and when we’re done eating, the chair’s going to be wet with you. So’s that sofa, or the bed, wherever we go next. And after you leave, I can press my face into it and smell you.”

“ _ Jesus _ , Damien.”

“Now, you want some more or not?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me I’m better than him.”

She thinks about drawing this out, but if saving her brother and finally releasing her hold on her magic didn’t make her deserving of sex, she isn’t sure what is.

“Yes, you’re better,” she pants, “now give me--”

The blunt, thick penetration of his finger is a godsend, almost too much, just right. She whines high in her throat.

“Damn, Joanie,” something in her sparks when he calls her that, a fierce want bubbling up in her, “you want this, don’t you? You gotta a lot of years to catch up. I bet you were a model student, never sneaking out of class, always working hard for a 4.2 GPA or whatever.”

He rocks himself into her, the width of his fingers pressing with maddening deliberation.

“Never gave a second glance at the boys,” he continues, “but you gave them second thoughts, yeah? Ever think about cutting those study sessions short and working off the stress?”

She clenches around him, an involuntary response, sobbing.

“You’re wound up real tight, I can help with that,” he purrs. His other hand works at her clit, and when she’s ready to come, he yanks his fingers out, goes to place his mouth on her, but just his breath on her clit is enough to send her to her peak.

H er cunt spasms on empty space.

“Put them back, put them back,” she cries.

He smirks, gives her exactly what she wants.

“This is what you want isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

The thrust of his hand is methodical this time, firm pressure against some part inside her, searching for something in her. And as she relaxes into the wind of her orgasm, she gushes against him.

“Atta girl.”

Damien shoves his face right in, not minding the mess, like she’s a fountain on a hot summer day. Except no one pressed their face that hard into a fountain or … the metaphor falls apart as he fucking tries to drink all of her cum up. He comes up for air briefly, and her glistening wetness on his face, his hair, shouldn’t be so arousing.

As she comes down from her orgasm, he licks down her thighs, and even the seat of the chair so she isn’t sitting in a small puddle of her own ejaculate.

He wipes the back of his hand across his red mouth and stares at her pussy.

“Man, I wanna know if I can fist you and do that.”

From this angle, he’s looking up at her, gaze all amazed and expectant. She wants to see what she can snatch from that look. If she can thoroughly undo him the way he does her. Remembering the velvet leash, she leans down, her feet tingling, and takes his throat in her hand. Not squeezing, just a steady weight against it.

The sound he makes,  _oh_ .  Joan’s not sure she can come again, but sex didn’t have to be about the orgasm.

“You’ve been a good boy,” she says slowly so she has time to make her next choice wisely, and see how he reacts.

And it’s spectacular, his desire a blast of heat making her pussy spasm. The sheer desire on his face is obvious, even to someone as non-kinky as her, and she wants to see how much she can make him _want_.

“And good behavior means good rewards.”

“Harder,” he rasps.

Joan doesn’t know much about this, but she knows she shouldn’t choke him without some knowledge. She was not going to cut this short with a trip to the emergency room because either of them got carried  away.

Adjusting her grip, she grabs the hard corners of his jaw, then his cheeks. His nostrils flare as he squeaks, but when she gives a quick glance down, his erection hasn’t waned at all. 

Loosening her hold, she demands, “Tell me I’m the best.”

“Joan,” he says desperately, his hands grasping at her knees.

“Tell me, or I don’t blow you.” She very deliberately thinks about their positions reversed, him on the chair, her on her knees gazing up at him, her mouth on him, knowing he’ll pick up on it.

He strangles his groan by sucking on her fingers.

He’s not as undone as she’d like, so she lets her power roll over him. She’s not as precise in her magic use as Damien is, but it gets the job done, his body shivering from the toes up.

“You’re the best thing, better than what I would’ve dreamed of,” he gasps.

“Attaboy.”

He half-heartedly glares at her. She lets him go, leans back into the chair, and kicks him down to the floor.

“The floor’s cold,” he whines.

“Get a rug for next time,” she admonishes.

As she gets down from the chair and crawls over him, the floor is indeed cold, but she makes no comment on it. As her hands creep beneath his briefs to his hip, he groans. She yanks the front of his stupid underwear down (if she ruins it, she can buy him another pair), and Damien cants his hips up and helps her take them off. Once he has them around one knee, she wastes no time licking him from root to tip.

His delight ripples through her, makes her clit tingle. He’s not forcing the feeling through to her either; he was heavy-handed when he did.

When she massages his balls, his legs kick up underneath her. “Cold!”

She leans one forearm across his thighs, their hair coarse. Then she massages his thigh, feeling the muscle work across his femur. “Be still,” she breathes close to his cock.

“Joan, _please_.”

Squeezing his balls, she slips the tip of his cock into her warm mouth. He pushes himself further into her, but she pushes his hip back into the floor with her free hand. She takes her time gently sucking at the tip, both to antagonize him and to see if her usual aversion will reappear.

It doesn’t, after teasing the underside of his head with her tongue, she takes more of him in her mouth. She lets go of her hold on him, letting her palm move across his tender belly to caress the soft skin of his waist.

He begins thrusting up into her mouth, and it’s still hard to take him, and she has to give up on swallowing her saliva. She lets it drip out of her, the noise obscene as she bobs up and down.

Her hair tickling her nose is distracting, but whenever she pushes it behind her ear, the jostle of his hips undoes it. Damien tries to help, grasps at the crown of her head, but only manages to mess it up further. She gazes up at him, and he’s looking down at her, face flushed.

So she squeezes his balls even harder and does her best to fight her gag reflex.

His fingers curl tightly against her scalp, then he grabs whatever he can of her, her temples, the hollowness of her cheeks. He tells her scattered fragments of his dreams, how incubuses don’t often dream, and when they do how _valued_ it is, and something about how Joan is a gift from the giver of dreams.

While nice to have something to focus on, she struggles to breath past him, past her need to choke. When she’s nearing the point of not caring if she vomits on him, he lets his magic stream over her like a hot shower, steam rising, muscles relaxing, her flesh eases, and he slips past the hard roof of her mouth.

He gets distracted then, groaning, magic spooling across the apartment and not enough for Joan, her gorge already rising. She quickly maneuvers her fingers to her cunt and rubs around her clit, but not directly on it. Imagines Damien’s the one teasing her, thinks of telling him he can’t touch unless he finishes instructing her on the ins and outs of incubus lore.

That does the trick, his focus sharpens again, the magic coalescing on her, and she takes his dick even deeper down her throat. Together, they feed into one another, his dick can _not _possibly taste like cream cheese frosting on chocolate cake, but Damien’s sense of magic bleeds into hers. She wonders what her magic feels like to him. But she lets the thought go, lets herself be swept into the current of their magic, tightening into a starburst of pleasure. She’s not sure if it begins with the taste of salt and pork rinds or the spasm of her cunt, but then both of them shudder against each other in orgasm.

* * *

Once the magic begins to evaporate off their bodies, Joan can begin to tell what’s her body and what’s his. Pulling herself to her elbows, she rests her head on his belly. His body is conspicuously absent of body fluids. Had she swallowed? She never swallows.

“So...” Damien says into the post-coital silence, pulling his gaze from the ceiling to her. “You’re saying yes? To you and me?”

“I’m saying yes,” she confirms, “to me and you.”

She feels a warm pulse against her from the bond between them, a vibration not too far from a purr or the rumble of a good motorcycle. Of course he’d be insufferable that she’d acquiesced to his outrageous campaign.

“Why was the sex different from before?” she inquires.

“Do you mean so mindblowingly amazing you’ll never sleep with another man again? Or woman,” he adds with a speculative glance.

Rolling her eyes, “You know what I mean. If you could always make sex that steeped in magic exchange, why didn’t you earlier?”

He wriggles his shoulders, and smiles like a Cheshire Cat in response.

Sensing she’s not going to get anymore about this out of him, she slaps his stomach and says, “C’mon, let’s take this to the bed.”

“Oh thank god. The sex was hot, but the floor is still cold.”

They climb to their feet, and meander to his bedroom. She’d given her his hand to help him up, but he won’t let go of her. He can’t keep his hands to himself, which makes walking hard. When she mentions she thought he was _cold_, he begins blowing raspberries into every part of her body available, bemoaning why can’t _she_ keep him warm.

When they finally make it to his bedroom, he flops into the unmade bed first, dramatically pulling the sheets down for her. She uses the chance to blow a raspberry into his armpit. He smells faintly of Old Spice and salt (was this newfound fixation on salty flavors from him?).

Damien pulls the heavy blankets over her, and he does tell her more about the mores of incubuses (with some suspect succubus lore), complete with some hands-on demonstrations. And then they tumble into sleep, one right after the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will be the last one! I'll upload the last chapter along with the playlist I made.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon and incubus make their peace, and perhaps their future as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 31, “I’ve waited so long for this.” 
> 
> I started writing this in October 2018 at the start of a new job, wrote the last chapters during the PG&E power outages, and now I'm finishing posting this to ao3 during the shelter-in-place order. I'm wishing all of you joy and relief during this wild time.
> 
> Without further ado, here's the last chapter.

Joan wakes to a dick sliding between her thighs.

“Morning sex is nice, don’t you think?” a voice says.

She mumbles, not fully awake without caffeine.

“Oh, I can fix that too.” He sends a spark of magic up her skin.

She blinks, the sleep leaving her eyes. “It’s fucking dark, it’s not morning until the sun comes up.”

“Ooooh, grouchy,” he replies cheerfully. “It’s definitely sunlight time though, it’s just the blackout curtains.”

Skeptical, she turns over and looks at the electric clock and its teal numbers.

“I can tell you were dreaming about me,” he sing-songs.

“Not everything’s about you,” her mouth is still fuzzy. Yanking the blankets back, she tries to spoon him into submission, hoping he’ll go back to sleep.

Instead, he turns around in her arms and squeezes her rib cage, then says, “I didn’t visit your dreams last night, Joan. You wore me _out_ last night. And as hot as you are in your dreams, you’re even hotter in the flesh.”

“I thought you weren’t a morning person,” she grouses.

“I’m not,” he replies much to cheerfully.

“...so why are you so so smug?”

“You and I are bonded,” he says the same way women looking at a gossip rag would over the latest news.

“...What!”

Tapping into her magic, there is the velvet cord between her and Damien, she grasps it, and instead of a thin string, she feels it fully in her hand, the weight of it, the brush of the fabric, the way its smooth when she goes with the grain, and raspy when she goes against.

Damien shudders against her, and his pleasure radiates onto her like a good day in the sun at the beach. When she reaches further, she can also feel more of him, how he’s never been so happy for morning wood, how stupidly sprung he is on her, and also how he’s regretting not having ricotta on hand to make her lemon pancakes to cement his position as #1 in her life, also his appreciation for how she’s sitting up and the blankets fall away to show her breasts. She has such nice, delectable breasts and maybe she’d let him pour syrup on it given the ramen went so well...

Joan pulls back into herself. “Holy shit.”

“Mmhm.”

“But nothing changed! We’ve had sex before, we’ve fallen asleep together, you’ve _been_ a bedhog and octopus.”

“Hey!”

As she continues to mull over what in the world changed, Damien rolls his eyes. “You’re overthinking this,” he says. “You accepted the bond, so you know very well what it was that changed.”

_C’mon, Joan_ , that voice inside tells her,  _can we hurry back up to the kissing stuff?_

That thought niggles at her. She says the words slowly, like she’s a calf learning to walk, “Is it because I said I wanted to give a relationship between us a chance?”

“_I give myself to you, in body, heart, spirit, by word so it is, until by my word it is no more,_” he recites. “For someone who hasn’t read into incubus lore, you sure did pick the most literal way to go about things.”

“That’s all you needed to seal the bond between us? Verbal confirmation?” she states.

“I started the bond, so it’s up to you to accept it or not. I guess that decision, plus my A+ sexing, is what convinced you.” He gives her a blatant once-over.

“Don’t you think about something other than sex?” And maybe it’s true women hit their sexual prime older, or a byproduct of the link between them, but she does press her thighs together.

His hand parts her legs, and her eyes roll back as he palms her clit then tests her with his fingers.

“You’re pretty wet for someone not interested.”

“Vaginas are naturally --”

He rolls his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with this you know, this whole wanting things business.”

She huffs, if anything he has the opposite problem.

“Okay, fine, but if it’s morning, let’s open the curtains.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, and waits for her to get out of bed.

She waits, not moving, then says, “You got to ogle me all you wanted earlier, now it’s my turn.”

Understanding dawns on his face, and then he eagerly springs from the bed. As she thought, he’s entirely shameless, even putting swing into his hips and looking at her over his shoulder.

Such a vain man.

Still, she stares at his butt as he opens the window curtains, and the morning sun filters in.

“Better?”

“Yes, now come to bed.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, leaping back into bed, and pulling down the covers from her legs. She shivers, not from the cold; his room is pleasantly warm even without his blankets.

“Soooo, you know, I don’t have neighbors.”

“Seriously?” This was a neighborhood in high demand.

“I made sure they’re vacation home-rs, and right now they’re in Florida. So we can be as loud as we want.”

“Well, then, I’ll have to see how loud _you_ can be.”

Joan sets herself to work, using this newfound feedback from the bond to wring obscenely loud moans from Damien. And when the thrill of it is too much, she presses him into the bed with her weight.

And Damien, too, has his fill at last. Determined to show her she still had some things to learn about reading another’s desires, he plucks idle fantasies from her mind and offers them to her with his lush mouth and devilish fingers.

He proves as good as his word: she begs, she yells as their hips wind together towards their peak.

As Damien’s skin dampens with sweat, his forearms straining against the mattress, he tells her to take her fill of him. In this too, he’s right. She takes and takes of him, filling up the empty and aching parts of herself until she feels full of gold and sunlight. His magic remains undrained, replenishing itself by pulling upon her desire until both their magics wring pleasure from every cell of their body.

* * *

High off his magic, Joan sits up in the bed, ready to start her day with that fancy coffee maker she saw on his kitchen counter. Hanging from the back of a chair, is a pair of leather pants.

“You really have a pair?” she asks incredulously.

He blows hair out of his eyes, then wraps himself around her waist. “Yup, and I would’ve been had them on if you’d texted me before coming over like I thought you would.” Giving her an appraising glance, he says, “I guess I underestimated you.”

“I took a page from your book,” she replies, draping her arm over his shoulder, then scratching the back of his neck. “Was that espresso maker there last time?”

He presses his face into her belly, stays there long enough she wonders if he has enough oxygen. She makes to get up, but he only grips her tighter, so she runs her hands over his shoulders, through his hair, scooping her fingers against the back of his head.

At last he pulls back, and there’s something terribly open about his face. Like he’s giving her something and waiting for him to kick him for it.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Damien says, and _oh_, Joan thinks.

She hadn’t pegged him as a romantic, but it must mean a great deal for someone who’s livelihood was often tied to multiple people to decide to promise himself to one person. But maybe he just wanted something that was his own, that he didn’t have to leave each night, that he could wake up to every morning.

Perhaps it was much simpler than she’d thought after all, his pursuit of her less sinister, and very human.

Falling back into the bed, she pulls him up her body. He rests easily at her side, but he keeps his hands to himself, waiting.

Smoothing a hand over his chest, upon his heart, she says, “Me too.”

(The bond between them twists even tighter, and she hears a young girl’s delighted giggle.)

A small smile splits his face like the first spoonful of crème brulée. “Oh?” He grabs her ass with one hand, then gently pats it. His version of encouragement.

“I stopped believing things like fun and dating would be mine, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t still want them. When I thought of what my life could be like, it would hurt, so I stopped letting myself want it.”

He gives her a quizzical stare, her statement likely at odds with the nature of his very magic being about indulging wants and needs.

She pulls his head onto her chest, above her breast. “This though, this I can let myself want. Even with all the work that needs to be done at the Association, I still want to stay.”

“Then don’t go,” he replies. “It can wait.”

“Only if you do too.”

“Yeah,” he says roughly, and then she leans up on her elbows to kiss him, and this – this moment, this pleasure, this man, it’s hers. She doesn’t know how long this will last, but she wants it for as long as it will.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” she offers.

His eyes light up, and his mouth quirks, promising he has all sorts of plans.

“I bought the espresso maker just for you. It even makes vanilla lattes.”

Yes, she could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, whether you were here from the beginning, or just started. I hope it brings you some measure of pleasure. <3 If you have the time/energy, please leave a comment!
> 
> In terms of what's next writing-wise, I'm working on a mildly kinky 20k+ post-canon Joan/Damien fic. The other (much shorter!) fic I have is a PWP Cheris/Jedao fic (Machineries of Empire fandom). It's also kinky, lmao, but Jedao is canonically a masochist and has a uniform kink so. XD


	32. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tunes I listened to as I wrote this!

braggadocious

  1. [Play the Game Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbKWXR-2cH8) / A*M*E
  2. [Scuse Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjILCNcHevY) / Lizzo
  3. [Pxssy Powah!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvbxqRZ0D-k) / Nitty Scott
  4. [Crown](https://sammusmusic.bandcamp.com/track/crown) / Sammus
  5. [Comeback ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnnvfHz7qzA)/ Ella Eyre (#menaretrash)

moody

  1. [Klonopin ](https://soundcloud.com/staramerasu/klonopin)/ Ah-Mer-Ah-Su
  2. [Space ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pobZr1XYxos)/ Ah-Mer-Ah-Su
  3. [So High ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LJsMUkxIWY)/ Doja Cat
  4. [No Police](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4JUXB2JTAU) / Doja Cat

sex(y)

  1. [Cool Fuck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvk1_ZzK5to) / cupcakKe
  2. [Masterpiece ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pP7gLPRDojg)/ Noni ft. Kid Culprit
  3. [Motivation ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChUVPJuL5o4)/ Kelly Rowland ft. Da Brat & Lil Wayne
  4. [Undressed ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPIbULzCcCg)/ Kim Cesarion
  5. [Pay My Bills](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBMT4CH1iSA) / K. Michelle
  6. [Wild Thoughts & Independent Women Part 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUqXrdBm2WU) / Ray BLK
  7. [Don’t Make Me Wait](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsjpwbap-0A) / Jazmine Sullivan 
  8. [Promises ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJpHxYLk7SI)/ Jess Glynne

misc.

  1. [La Tortura](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Trf_4uTmbc8) / Shakira ft. Alejandro Sanz
  2. [Ain’t Nobody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ro8-ngA8gs) / Chaka Khan
  3. [Nobody’s Buisness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4sICbJsqFI) / Rihanna
  4. [If I Never See Your Face Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbtajuiuLMU) / Rihanna ft. Maroon 5
  5. [My Dilemma 2.0](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Xll6wZhNAg) / Selena Gomez
  6. [(When You Gonna) Give It Up to Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMoNV9oWs2E) / Sean Paul ft. Keyshia Cole
  7. [Turn Me On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP3Exc5tCtc) / Kevin Lyttle ft. Spragga Benz
  8. [Mango Nectar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7lkGaZXBt8) / Nitty Scott
  9. [Love Runs Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=go6vZM0kwwE) / One Republic
  10. [Bite the Dust](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFyA6N4Rmxo) / Pussycat Dolls
  11. [I Decided, Pt. 2 (Freemasons Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bg2K0fQx4OI) / Solange Knowles
  12. [Work (Freemasons Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uZczPvm4jk) / Kelly Rowland
  13. [Ship to Wreck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9v8jLBrvug) / Florence + the Machine
  14. [Them Changes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BGKZ5y0ij8) / Ledisi
  15. [If You Dare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7QXH_WaoIc) / Jazmine Sullivan
  16. [Let it Burn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUUB7m5aBvw) / Jazmine Sullivan
  17. [Te Quiero Con Bugalú ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8gPxMd0byQ) / Ile
  18. [The Mighty Fall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGPAv1Hq2-g) / Fall Out Boy ft. Big Sean
  19. [Irresistible](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8BGAYXNW74) / Fall Out Boy
  20. [Dead or Alive](https://soundcloud.com/erynallenkane/dead-or-alive) / Eryn Allen Kane
  21. [On My Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H202k7KfZL0) / Ellie Goulding
  22. [Outside ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9NQFACZYEU)/ Calvin Harris ft. Ellie Goulding
  23. [Together ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8B8nLah6Gw8)/ Calvin Harris ft. Gwen Stefani
  24. [Gimme a Chance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpXPrtqoaqw) / Azealia Banks
  25. [Home ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPv0V1DGLC8)/ Ailee ft. Yoon Mirae
  26. [High School](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6oQzBCZB48) / Nicki Minaj ft. Lil Wayne


End file.
